Purpose
by Rix
Summary: HBPAU After Sirius' death Harry is depressed and in need of distraction. Stuck at the Dursleys he turns to the Prophecy and it's declaration of kill or be killed to get away, and finds the ever inquisitive Mark Evans in the process.
1. Part I: Ch1

**A/N:** We have yet another revision of chapter one...This one, I feel, is far better than all previous ones thankfully. Enjoy the story!

**Purpose**

**Chapter One**

**July 2nd**

The sun shone bright from the sky over Little Whining that summer, much like the one before it. The water was being rationed once again, and every image conscious man and woman in the neighborhood of Privet Drive was doing their best to get around the problem and keep their browning lawns and wilting gardens in tip-top shape. In the noon of the day, housewives every where threw open their curtains to let in the sun, but didn't dare open the windows lest all the cool air rush out, wasted.

In Number 4, Harry Potter was tacking a ratty, folded old sheet over his window to keep the harsh light out. Aunt Petunia's sheer curtains that looked quite delicate and proper from the front lawn of the house did nothing to keep the sun from reaching him. The light of the sun hurt his eyes, and really, it was too cheerful for him to deal with at the moment. He was in no mood for cheer.

It seemed to Harry, on that bright second day of summer vacation, that there was no way he could win. If he wasn't watching Sirius fall through the veil, lost forever, he was watching his friends being hurt. Over, and over, and over again he watched as he and his friends rushed to the department of mysteries, and were attacked. They fought back, and Harry was heartened to know that they had been matches for so many full grown Death Eaters, but it wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough later when Voldemort gave up on his covert missions and started attacking outright and with full force. What if he attacked Diagon Alley? Would they be able to defend themselves and others? Would any of them survive?

The scenes played out before his minds eye like a movie. He watched as the Order arrived and joined the fray, as the sphere broke and the ghostly Dumbledore whispered the prophecy too low for anyone to hear above the sounds of battle, and as Sirius fell through the veil, pushed by a spell that wouldn't have killed him otherwise, and Harry cursed the one who had sent his godfather beyond the dais in an irreversible display of righteous anger and fledgling hate. Harry skipped those parts as often as he could unable to cope with the shame that coursed through him at every hastily made decision. What he watched most, was Dumbledore -- Dumbledore and Tom Riddle, and how they had dueled. Both men, at least half a century older than Harry each, moved with such speed and fluidity as to be called inhuman.

Harry couldn't do that. The magic they had used, he could and would learn. He would take the library the way Hermione did, and he would research curses and jinxes and hexes until he thought he had a decent amount of knowledge, but physical fitness and reflexes weren't taught in books and Harry didn't have them anymore. But he had once. Ages ago it seemed, Harry had flown down the streets and alleys of Little Whining as though there were wings on his heels. Then it hadn't seemed to be at all useful beyond getting him away from Dudley and his band of merry bullies, but now…those wings wouldn't just save him from a few bruises and broken glasses, they could save his life.

Dudley wouldn't chase for long, he knew, but Piers was on the track team at Smeltings or so it was said. The other boy was always boasting of some competition he had won, some race he ran. He would give chase. Hell, he might even consider it his own type of training. Harry thoroughly intended to make himself as good on the ground as he was in the air. If he managed it and Piers could keep up Polkiss was sure to smoke the other runners at his next meet.

_Might even do Duddikins some good_, Harry thought. It would get him exercising after all, and that could only be for the best. As the plan solidified itself in his mind Harry leaned his head against the cool glass of his window. First, though, he was going to get a good layout of the area again and build up his speed and stamina. Piers had a decent right hook and Dudley _was_ an up-and-coming junior boxing champion, no matter the jokes Harry made. It wouldn't do to get caught.

_I'll start running tonight_, he decided. _Then tomorrow morning and by next week I'll have Dud and Piers chasing me._

**July 8th**

Mark had been minding his own business as usual when Big D and his cronies happened upon him. Mark was small at eleven years old, a late bloomer according to his mother who insisted his dad had been much the same, and living in a 'broken home' with his parents divorced. This made him a prime target for ridicule in Little Whining's prime piece of suburbia where unhappy couples suffered in silence. He was a favorite of Dudley, Piers, and Gordon, who had been forced to abandon their afternoon of rock chucking with the hovering presence of the local police. They were eager to take advantage of the young boy's solitude. However, none of them realized that Harry Potter was sitting in the tree Mark happened to be reading under at the time.

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he tried to dispel nightmare visions from his mind. He had received almost no sleep the night before and only just finished his run when he'd hidden himself away in the oak tree that would someday grow to dominate the southern end of the park. He noted Mark Evans' arrival with little interest, finding the dead branch dangling above his head more entertaining. It seemed the wind and rain of the winter hadn't been enough to disentangle it from the other living branches, and Harry busied himself with doing so. Then Dudley appeared, and he saw his opportunity. He knew his way around Little Whining quite well now, meaning it was time to start the second phase of his plan. Become the mouse. Grinning, he jumped branch in hand, and landed between his cousin and the pig's new favorite punching bag.

"Potter! You freak, get the fuck out of my way!" Big D roared though his face didn't seem to hold as much power as it usually did. Mark began inching his way around the tree trunk at this point, Potter didn't look quite right and Big D didn't look quite so terrifying, but he was not about to let such a fortunate distraction pass him by merely to see Dudley Dursley tipping on his pedestal. Harry was grinning oddly and tossing a branch from hand to hand in a confident, nearly arrogantly pleased manner. Mark was plenty happy to let continue.

"I don't think so Dudley. You see, you invaded my space," he began amiably. "I was sitting all nice and _normally_ up in this tree. Evans was alright, he wasn't doing anything, but you--you came _waddling_ up, apparently prepared to give an eleven-year-old kid quite a beating. I remember them, you know. I can only imagine they're much worse these days. You are a lot bigger now." He smirked rather nastily now, and added: "Dropped the diet I guess. It's just as well, it hadn't done any good; you still take up one side of the table on your own."

Mark watched how Harry dealt with his cousin as he slowly inched away, and couldn't really understand why the older boy was taunting the much bigger one. Branch or not, Harry didn't appear to be very strong, not to mention the fact that he was out numbered. Mark certainly wasn't going to join in.

"Why you--!" Dudley fumed, making a fist at his side.

"Ah, ah, ah Dudley," the possibly insane boy said calmly as he tapped his cousins hand with the branch. "Wouldn't want me to retaliate would you?"

Dudley paled, and Mark edged farther away now more than a tiny bit wary of his 'savior'.

"Y-you can't do any of that," Dudley said, his voice raising in pitch. "You'll get expelled."

Potter laughed. "Dudley, I wouldn't be expelled for giving you a few good whacks with a branch I found in the tree." Mark had never been absolutely certain when it came to the Potter boy. He had never really seemed to be unstable -- a bit antisocial, maybe, but many teenagers were, weren't they? However, when he actually did whack his cousin in the shoulder with the branch, Mark could only think him mad and possibly suicidal to boot.

Gordon moved to grab the Potter boy and Mark bolted. So did Harry.

And so now they were running. Mark had not been able to shake any of them loose; he seemed to go just where Harry went no matter what he did. He had been tiring for some time when his companion jerked him to the side and nearly threw him down behind some trash cans at the end of the alley way and clamped at hand over his mouth.

Harry watched Piers and Gordon rush by, followed distantly by a loudly huffing Dudley. Once he was sure of their safety, he let go of the younger boy and slumped against the brick wall grimly pleased with the ache in his chest whenever he took a breath.

"Sorry about that," he said between gasps for air. Mark only nodded as he gaped for air and relief. A moment later he asked.

"Why did you do that?"

"What? Make them chase us?"

"You mean you _wanted_ them to do that?" Mark asked incredulously (he'd have yelled it but couldn't summon the energy). Harry Potter was most definitely insane.

"Yeah… Sorry you got…dragged along… I forgot you were there."

"_Why _do you want…them to chase you?"

There must have been some sort of explanation, nobody was _that_ insane. Nobody who knew Big D and his reputation anyway, and Harry certainly did. He was apart of it, really. Stories of what the local gang used to do to Harry Potter as children circulated the neighborhood as cautionary tales, and explanations to the small boy's strange behavior and criminal activity. There was talk of punches, broken glasses, bloody noses, swirlies, and ruined homework, eating dirt and _other things,_ Indian burns, purple-nerples, and a vast array of equally unpleasant things. Nobody wanted to be a young Harry, and nobody wanted to know what Dudley and his friends were capable of with more refined tastes for cruelty and wider views of the genres of evil. They were almost adults now, and adults always knew how to make things more painful.

Harry shrugged, and Mark considered his suspicions and those of the rest of the neighborhood confirmed. Harry Potter was indeed insane.

"To see if I could out run him," he said as if it were incredibly obvious.

"You are insane. And a masochist."

The Potter boy laughed. "Maybe," he said, "Maybe."

Mark stood up, brushed off his pants and said, "I hope I don't see you again" as he walked off. When he looked back he saw Harry propped up against the alley wall, eyes closed, and grinning in an oddly self-satisfied manner. Mark walked faster.

Harry sighed as he slid to his side in the alley and laughed as he rolled to his back. The run had felt good, better than the other runs he'd made over the past three days on his own. His legs ached and would undoubtedly get worse with the coming of night, and his lungs burned, but Harry felt wonderful. Maybe Snape was right. He was a reckless Gryffindor indeed, provoking his cousin like he was, but he also thought that Snape might actually be less insulting if it were ever brought up on account of the reason. Harry Potter was no longer sitting on his ass and waiting for his impending doom at the hands of an excessively powerful, psychopathic megalomaniac. He was preparing himself for a fight. He took quite a bit of pleasure in that.

The runs continued, and Mark was thankful he was seldom a part of them; although there were a few in which he participated, he mostly got glimpses of the chases or run right by. In his free time, though, the young boy pondered the all important question: _why?_ Why in the name of all that was Holy would Harry Potter, a skinny, underdeveloped boy at best, want the large, beefy, up and coming boxing champion chasing him almost every day. The small boy had gotten caught a number of times while Mark watched and once or twice he got away, but either way it was never pretty. He was always sporting at least one good shiner.

It was nearly a week later when the questions tugging at the back of his mind finally got the better of him and he could think of nothing else. He _need _answers! For the sake of his sanity he needed answers to the damnable questions. Unfortunately the only way to get those answers was to ask Harry. _That_ he did not want to do.

_Harry Potter is insane, to put it simply._ _But those QUESTIONS! _

**July 13th**

It would be best he thought, after intense consideration, to confront any mentally unstable persons in an open space, where cover and running room are abundant. Mark did not want to chance Harry freaking out and mauling him when he had no means of escape. He found the black haired boy in the park, sitting near the bushes with a paper bag-covered book in his lap and a piece of paper and a pen lying next to him on the grass. Mark watched nervously and gulped. Who knew what book that was, after all (a Step-by-Step Guide to Killing Young Boys and Getting Away with It seemed likely).

Harry heard Mark walk up and stiffened, hand poised above the yellow legal pad next to him. Glancing at the younger boy out of the corner of his eye, he wrote a word, then flipped to a fresh page to hide what he had been taking notes on, and got ready to shut the book. It wouldn't do to have anyone question his school books, and a book on potions (or, more specifically, poisons) would raise a lot of questions.

"Can I help you?" he asked warily. Mark had made a point of avoiding him since they had first been chased that day just over a week ago now, and it was more than a bit odd that he was now staring at him so unashamedly, however terrified he may seem. The change was unsettling.

However, the younger boy never got the chance to answer Harry's question as they were interrupted by the screech of an owl and the letter that fell between them. Mark was of course entirely confused and only stared at the letter in amazement, but Harry lunged for the odd, yellowish envelope without so much as a second thought. He'd nearly torn into it before he noticed that it was not _his _name on the front.

Instead of _Mr. H. Potter_ the green ink clearly stated _Mr. M. Evans_.

Harry blinked in shock a few times and turned to his companion, who had apparently made inching away from 'danger' – something Harry had never seen the point in (if you had a chance to get away unseen, best to take it quick) -- a habit.

"Your name's Evans, right?" he asked with a small smile on his face. He knew the answer of course, but the kid was so terrified and Harry was far too tired to really care that he was causing such a reaction that he was compelled to have his little joke for stress relief. The younger boy nodded slowly and took another step back. He jumped and shivered in fear when Harry took two large steps toward him and put a hand on his shoulder and laughed.

"Congratulations," he said with a chuckle as he handed over the letter. "I hope you'll come, you'll have a wonderful time, I promise."

The nearly-sixteen-year-old's grin couldn't have been any wider really; nor any creepier, and Mark's eyes widened slightly in fear as the envelope was shoved into his hands. What gastly thing was it that could make Harry Potter laugh and be cheerful? Potter walked away, taking his paper and book with him, but not before gazing into the trees and telling the owl perched there that it would be better if it just waited at the house, as the smaller boy didn't have any paper with him and that it was likely to be a while before a reply was written anyway. The owl hooted in answer and flew off down the street. Once the eleven year old was alone, he sighed, visibly relaxed, and looked at the letter. It was addressed:

_Mr. M. Evans_

_The Third Bedroom_

_8 Wisteria Lane_

_Little Whining _

_Surry_

With a growing curiosity (How in Hell had they known which bedroom was his? And who was 'they' anyway? And let's not forget the owl that clearly understood what Potter had been saying to it.) he turned over the strange envelope, spared the ornate wax seal a momentary glace before breaking it, and took out his letter.

It was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever read. Him? A wizard? Wizards didn't exist, and even if they did he'd never been anything special. If he were a wizard he should be able to keep away from Big D and his gang with out any trouble at all. If he had the power he'd turn them all into toads!

It was a strange letter no doubt and Mark was very tempted to rip it up and throw it in the nearest trash bin, but something was bothering him about it (owls that understood English…). Harry Potter had known what it was at a glance apparently. Why else say what he said? And he had obviously thought the letter was for him at first what with the way he dived for it, almost as if he didn't want anyone to see it. Perhaps he was playing a joke on him? With a sigh Mark yet again, resigned himself to a conversation with the neighborhood mad man. It was just as well, he thought. After all he hadn't actually gotten around to asking his first question.

Slowly at first, but with quickly gaining confidence, Mark followed Harry to the boy's own back yard. It was sickeningly bland, he thought, and detested the thought of entering without being invited, but the nagging feeling in the back of his mind just wouldn't go away, not with such little reason, and absolutely no answers. All he really wanted was the answer to one 'yes or no' question and he could go home. The others could wait for a while.

At first he didn't see the boy although he was certain this was the house, and he was about to turn around and go look elsewhere when he spotted the two legs protruding from a hydrangea bush. Mark walked slowly in an attempt to make as little noise as possible, but stepped on a twig about two feet from the plant. Harry didn't move, but Mark figured his cover had been blown and walked into view. Harry was reading again, or had been before he been alerted that he wasn't alone (or so the younger boy thought. Really he was waiting for someone to either start throwing curses or apparate away, as the crack of the twig was off schedule.). Now he was glaring, straight ahead at nothing, over the top of the book. When he saw that the other boy was back again, he smirked and put down the book, but did nothing to hide what he had been writing about.

Mark gulped, took a shuttering breath, and held out his letter.

"You know what this is." It wasn't a question. Potter's smirk turned into a grin.

"I know," he said. "Are you going to go?"

Mark looked at him skeptically. "It doesn't exist," he said defiantly.

"Sure it does," said Harry, "I go there. I can tell you all about it, I could show you my uniform, I could show you my books, I could tell you about the teachers, everything." He stood up and grinned.

"I could tell you how Hogwarts will keep Dudley away."

_That_ got Mark's undivided attention.

"Show me."

Harry smirked. Somehow the thought of explaining Hogwarts and all its eccentricities enthralled him, and he wasted little time in sneaking the younger boy into his room with the help of the invisibility cloak stuffed into the cargo pocket of his pants. Once inside the tiny room, Harry kicked aside a few of Dudley's old toys that littered the floor and knelt before his trunk at the foot of the bed, smiling almost manically as the door was shut quietly behind him, and Mark nervously removed the cloak.

"So," he began, attempting to make conversation and fight the uneasy feeling that had consumed him. "This is your room?"

He was going to end up chopped into little pieces and stuffed into the walls for coming up here, he just knew it. The room looked like it belonged to a mad man. It was tiny, with barely enough room for the rickety bed, desk, and wardrobe it contained. The window had an old sheet nailed over it to keep the light out, casting the room into ominous darkness, and making the desk lamp the only source of light. Harry jumped up and switched that on irritably after a few seconds and then returned to digging books out of his trunk. The light illuminated the broken toys scattered across the floor and the jumbled mass of papers that hid the desktop from view. Hidden on top of or half under those papers were _feathers –quills_ instead of pens and pencils, and little jars of what Mark was sure was ink. There were papers tacked to the wardrobe and the walls filled with doodles or scribbles that the young boy didn't try to decipher, and a book shelf full of dusty books.

"Hardly. This is Duddy-kin's second bedroom, which I am given the pleasure of occupying over every summer," Harry chuckled, whether at the boy's nervousness or out of sarcasm he didn't know, just as he did not know why he was so deliriously happy to have him here.

Arms full, Harry turned around.

"School books," he said, as an explanation and awkwardly held up his arm, trying not to drop the aforementioned books. "But this is a wand."

Mark looked distinctly unsettled. Harry furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember what it was Hagrid had said to him five years ago.

"Er……ever have anything really strange happen around you, for no reason?" he asked. As Mark appeared to remember _something_, Harry decided to share some of his early magical experiences.

"I shrank a sweater once so I wouldn't have to wear it," he began. "It was the ugliest thing in the world. Well, the ugliest sweater, anyway," he added thinking of the dementors and mermaids. Both had been quite a bit uglier than the sweater.

"I think I floated the Christmas presents out of the closet once," Mark offered.

"Well, there you go!"

"So…do you need the wand to do magic?" Mark asked floundering now, at the prospect of magic being real. "Or does this school place just teach you how to control it?"

Harry nearly said that you had to have a wand but paused. Did they really _need_ the wand to do magic? _Every_ magical child did accidental magic. Was it at all possible to control that? He had always used a wand though, and nobody had ever mentioned doing magic without one before. Perhaps it was impossible. That didn't seem right though. The word, impossible, just didn't go with magic. At one point, he would have said that being immortal was impossible, but Nicolas Flamel seemed to manage just fine. And then there was Harry himself. Surviving the killing curse was said to be impossible, but here he was trying to convince an eleven year old boy that magic was real.

"I think," he began slowly, "that you need the wand, but suddenly I'm not so sure…Never really thought about it."

"_You think?_" asked Mark. If Harry had been in school for a few years, shouldn't he know if it were possible?

"Well, I've always used a wand," Harry explained. "In fact, I've never even heard of anyone doing wandless magic, but if we do it accidentally I would think we could do it on purpose…Anyway! At Hogwarts you do magic with a wand, except for in Potions, Astronomy, and Herbology."

"You study Astronomy? What for?" That honestly didn't seem like a magic subject.

"Er…so you know what stars are where and how to identify what stage the moon is in and the alignment of the planets and stuff. It can be useful in potions and rituals, I guess."

"Potions?"

And so the conversation went, for another two hours. The two covered the basic subjects and well as electives, exams, teachers, quidditch, and house rivalries. They touched on Harry's friends and his own past and personal experiences, which Mark took with a grain of salt, still not convinced that Harry Potter wasn't entirely insane despite magic being real. When he left (escorted to the back gate underneath the invisibility cloak once again) he took with him all of Harry's first year text books to show to his mother.

Harry spent the rest of the night pondering the mystery of wandless magic. Eventually deciding that it was at least worth a try, but getting virtually no where even after three hours of solid concentration. He fell asleep, exhausted and nightmare free to his great pleasure. Even dodging his bulbous cousin everyday and reviewing his old textbooks couldn't tire or distract him enough to keep Sirius from falling through the veil again most nights, or save his friends from some horrific imagined fate.

**July 14th**

The next day Harry was amazed to find himself adding acrobatics to his game of chase. He hadn't known he could do things like that, but vowed to try it more often. Dudley and Peirs had, for the first time, enlisted their entire gang into their Harry Hunting, and had managed to herd him into a back alley that dead ended with a brick wall maybe eight feet tall. Luckily, Harry had gotten a good feel for the layout of Little Whining, and had known where he was being lead before even turning the corner. Even luckier, the alley was long, and he had time to gather his speed and put some distance between himself and the others before jumping for the wall. He _ran_ up the wall.

Granted it was only two or three steps and then he was able to grab hold of the top and vault himself the rest of the way, but it was _amazing_! Once he was sure the others were done for the day he went back to try again.

He tried it from across the street the first time to make sure he had enough running room and made it without trouble. Then he moved to the alley's entrance. Simple. At half way he didn't quite make it. He managed to propel himself most of the way, but fell back down before he could grab the top of the wall, landing on his backside, then rolling back over his shoulder and onto his feet with the momentum, scraping his cheek, bruising his shoulder, back and tailbone, and loosing his glasses in the process.

"Stupid wall," he muttered to himself, rubbing his lowerback. He picked up his glasses off the ground and replaced them before he went halfway back down the alley to try again, working through the sore muscles and abused bones. This time he made it, but had to scramble to get over, where before it had been one fluid motion. Still, pleased with himself, Harry sat on top of the wall for a bit, planning ways to add more of these obstacles to his runs, and grimly pleased that Dudley had brought in the rest of his lackeys. Things were getting too simple anyway.

"I wonder how much it would cost me to get Duddy-kins to teach me to box." He wondered aloud. Probably a lot…in fact it probably wasn't worth the bruises he'd get for being the larger boy's sparring partner, but it was an idea if nothing else.

The rumble of his stomach told Harry it was time to get going. He had not eaten yet today. Groaning, he moved to get up, then paused as another idea struck him. It was possibly as suicidal as the last one, but still…he _had_ just run up a wall three times hadn't he? Surely he could manage without cracking his head open. Grinning, Harry took a good look at the concrete below him. It was clear, all the trash bins were farther down the alley, and there was nothing else there for him to land on except the ground….and his head of course. Carefully, he stood and slipped his glasses into his pants pocket, not wanting to loose them again. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, before he jumped head first, flipping through the air.

He wasn't on his feet long enough to be amazed. His damnable momentum carried him farther and he fell face first, scraping his hands and his chin on the hard ground.

"……..Ow."

Harry lifted himself up and cringed at the sight of the stinging, shredded skin on his hands. Well, at least they weren't bleeding much.


	2. Part I: Ch2

A/N: Chapter Two...

I own nothing!

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**July 15th**

Mark found him at the primary school using the playground equipment as obstacles, running, jumping, and diving over and through most of the plastic structures.

"HARRY!" he shouted, and waved the older boy over even as he ran towards him. Harry vaulted over a purple crawl tube and turned to his small friend.

"Yeah?"

"My mum wants to talk to you," said Mark, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him in the direction of Wisteria Lane.

Mark's mum, Wendy, was waiting for them in the living room, flipping casually through Harry's first year Charms text, and eyeing the pages suspiciously. His older sister, Linda was looking at the potions book excitedly, and flipping from the end with recipes to the ingredient lists and descriptions repeatedly, trying to decipher the strange new words.

"Harry Potter," Wendy stated once her son shut the door. "You're hailed as one of the neighborhood trouble makers. How do I know this isn't some joke you're playing on my boy?"

Her voice was dry and sarcastic, but that hardly phased Harry who was used to a certain amount of distain in the voices of those referring to him.

"A little elaborate for a prank, isn't it?" he said in equal fashion, raising an eyebrow and nodding to the book she held.

Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that the boy had a point. These were professionally bound books, and had a smattering of notes in the margins, most with nothing (as far as she could tell) to do with subject matter on the page, and in three distinctive handwritings.

"So you attend Hogwarts yourself?" she asked. "I've always heard it was St. Brutus' you went too."

"Er…Yeah, well, that's the Dursley's for you. They'd rather I be a criminal than a freak."

Wendy Evans looked up at the young man before her. He was skinny. Very skinny. And probably small for his age…how old was he? He looked about fourteen, but that was at the oldest. She glanced at her daughter, who was thirteen. She and her brother were watching the exchange closely. Well, Mark was, Linda was watching Harry closely. Surely he was older than her by more than a few months to a year.

"Freak?" she said carefully. "Is that how you think of yourself?"

At this Harry was a bit uncomfortable. Of course he hadn't thought of himself a freak in years, now, at least not most of the time, but nobody had ever asked him that. For some reason the _way_ she asked him that question put him on edge. He didn't like being analyzed.

"N-no. That's just what the Dursleys think. I'm a wizard," he said with conviction.

"Ah-huh," she said.

"I believe him, Mum. I really do." Mark was standing tall and defiant next to his sister. Harry glanced over and noticed just how alike the two looked. They had the same sandy brown hair and brown eyes. The girl was a fair bit taller and her long hair was pulled back, bangs brushing her eyes.

"Now, Mark –"

"No! Really, Mum. Linda, remember all that weird stuff that always happened around me?" he asked his sister desperately.

Linda's eyes widened as she recalled various incidents of floating teddies, and color changing markers. She used to joke that her brother was magic, actually. Smiling excitedly, she turned to Harry, hugging the potions book tightly.

"Do you learn alchemy at your school?" Next to her Mark rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Er…I don't think so," Harry said and shrugged. "But the Headmaster knows alchemy, so he must have learned it somewhere."

"_That's so cool!_" she squealed. "Mum, you _have_ to let Mark go. And Mark, you have to let me read your text books."

"_Lin_-da," groaned Mark, "I'm not going to learn alchemy to make you a Philosopher's Stone."

"I don't want you to _make_ it for me, Earwig! I just want to know _how_ it's made."

"Don't call me Earwig!"

"Stop it you two!" commanded Wendy as she pinched her nose in exasperation. "First of all, your going is still up in the air, Mark. And Linda, if the Philosopher's Stone is what that cartoon says it is, then you're better off leaving it alone."

"The Philosopher's Stone is a small red stone that has the power to turn any metal into gold and makes the elixir of life."

Startled, the Evans' all turned to the dark haired boy in their midst. They hadn't forgotten about him, but gotten caught up in their discussion.

"There _is_ a Philosopher's Stone?" Such a look of wonder and desperation for knowledge wasn't something Harry could ignore.

"Yeah," he said warily. He rarely talked about the fiasco that was his first year in any sort of detail, or even thought of it for that matter. Even when telling Mark just the other day he'd only stuck to the barest of facts. "I've seen it."

Somehow the adoring, hero worship look he was receiving unnerved him, despite the fact that was put under that sort of scrutiny on a daily basis at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was the fact that it wasn't due to the scar on his forehead, but something he felt to be truly insignificant. And it had something to do with a cartoon? Mark had a strange sister.

"So," began Wendy, noticing Harry's discomfort, "What's the deal with this school. What do they teach you? You can have a seat by the way."

Harry nodded and thanked the woman as he took a seat in the armchair he was standing next too. There was another one next to it, and they both sat across from the overstuffed couch, which, like the chairs, was a soft, pale blue. In the center of the room was a low white wicker coffee table with a glass top, and the fireplace, painted white, dominated the right wall.

"Well, the basic subjects are Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. In third year you can add electives. Your choice out of Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies, which is the study of non-magical people," he explained.

"Hogwarts has four houses, and you live in your house dormitory, and go to class with your housemates."

"What do you do for fun?" Linda. She appeared to be just as endlessly curious as her brother.

"Er…there is Quidditch. It's our sport. It's kind of like football, and we play it on brooms. It's great. There's a match between houses every couple of weeks, and then there's Hogsmead. It's a village nearby, but students aren't allowed to go there until third year, and only with parents' permission."

Wendy hummed thoughtfully and drummed her fingers on the book in her lap.

"Those are the only subjects you learn?" she said, "No English, Math, or Geography? Science?"

"Er…no…That's it."

Harry hadn't expected a question like that. For the first time he wondered why that was.

"So what career options does a wizard have?" Even Mark and Linda where stunned by their mother's questions.

"Well, you can work for the Ministry, which is our government. And then there's medi-wizardry, which is like being a doctor. I was looking into being an Auror, which is a dark wizard catcher, and people get paid to make potions, and charm objects, and run shops, make wands, and teach, and all kinds of other things," Harry said in a rush. It just occurred to him that he didn't really know what there was to do, really _do_, to make a living in the wizarding world.

What had his parents done? And Sirius before he was sent to Azkaban? Every adult he knew seemed to work for the Ministry, or Dumbledore, but surely there were more options than that.

Why had he never thought of these things before?

"To be honest with you Mrs. Evans I never really thought about it."

"Really? You will be graduating soon, won't you?"

"Er…yes," Harry replied, "In fact, everybody in my year met with their Heads of House to find out what they need to do for whatever career they choose to do after school just this past year, but there was never any formal talk of what our options were."

"And you want to be a…what was it? Aura?"

Harry smiled a bit. If Mark went to Hogwarts the woman before him would have quite the time memorizing all the new terminology that came with a magical education.

"It's Auror. And I guess that's what I want to do. It's all I can really think of anyway. And if I get the grades to qualify for Auror training, then I should have grades good enough for almost anything else in any of the required fields, so there is room to move around some."

"I see," Wendy said and inspected the cover of the book in hands again. "Do you know if there are any books out there that list career possibilities? I would like Mark to look at one before the decision is made."

If there was such a book Harry wanted a copy for himself. He said as much.

"My friend Hermione might know of one…that is, if she hasn't bought it already. Chances are she has," he snorted. Wendy smiled, and nodded.

"So, where do you buy these books?" she wondered aloud. "I've never come across them in any bookstore I've been too."

"Wizards are good at hiding themselves from non-magical people, or muggles," he told her after gathering his thoughts. "There are entire shopping centers and towns that most people don't know about.

I've only been to Hogsmead, the town near the school and Diagon Alley, in London. That's where everybody I know buys their school supplies. Er…well, I did go to the Ministry twice, actually, but I'm not sure that counts." You couldn't exactly buy books at the Ministry.

Linda gasped happily. "Can we go, Mum? To that Alley?"

"Please!" injected Mark interrupting his mothers sigh. Brother and sister stood united with pleading glances, bouncing on the balls of their feet, each hugging a book. Wendy looked on just a tiny bit amused by her children's actions.

"Would you be our guide, then Harry?" she surrendered. Harry paused.

"That…would take some planning on my part, but I might be able to get away with it," he said eventually as ran simulations through his mind. How could he get away? Dumbledore wasn't about to let him go off essentially on his own at all this summer, undoubtedly.

"Give me a week."

"If your aunt and uncle wouldn't approve, Harry, then you shouldn't go."

Harry smiled, and his mind returned to the living room.

"It's not my aunt and uncle I have to get around, Mrs. Evans," he began. "I'm kind of…well…famous in my world. I survived when others didn't and people think I am some kind of savior for it, but now I've got the one who tried to kill me when I was a baby after my head again, and……"

He trailed off and the far away look returned.

"Actually, it would probably be a bad idea for you to be seen with me when I can't use magic," Harry realized. "Yeah, I'll go with you, but I have to talk to the Headmaster first. He's kind of leading the fight against this…"he searched for the word, "…terrorist group that seems to think I'll be their downfall. He's keeping me on a tight leash to keep me out of trouble, but at the very least he could arrange for a guard to go with us, maybe…"

But would he after Harry destroyed his office? Would they think introducing this family to the wizarding world to be unworthy of an escort? Probably. Did Harry _dare_ put these people into danger by sneaking out with them?

The questions weighed on him, and Harry retreated farther into his mind with each one, comparing his options, and running through a slew of scenarios. From Dumbledore refusing and Harry sneaking out to Diagon Alley only to be ambushed and forced to watch as Death Eaters tortured and killed his new friends, to half the Order accompanying them, Ron and Hermione included.

Harry politely excused himself from the Evans' house, without noticing and again asked for a week to plan the trip. He mulled over how to word his letter to Dumbledore on the way home, and imagined various reactions to each sentence and word.

While Harry's world was blurring and fading in the background of his plans, Wendy Evans' focus sharpened on the boy in front of her, and everything she had just learned. And she had learned a bit more than what had come out of Harry Potter's mouth. The Dursleys for example were nowhere near as nice and normal as they appeared to be. Their nephew was, at best, neglected and abused at worst. The headmaster of Hogwarts had too much authority over his student for her tastes. And the Wizarding World was likely politically unstable at the moment.

But that didn't mean that was a place her son shouldn't be. If he was magical then it would probably be cruel not to let him express that.

And she trusted Harry, despite having just met him. Quiet strength rolled off him in waves, providing comfort and security. But it was blanketed under immense self-doubt that could be heard in his voice when a question caught him off guard. Did he fear failure? Was that it? If his entire world regarded him as their end-all be-all answer to their terrorist problem, it wasn't unlikely.

Neglected and belittled. Respected and revered. Two sides of the coin that was Harry Potter. Add in a teenaged boy's natural rebelliousness and raging hormones and you have one hell of a brew.

If Harry's Headmaster wouldn't consent to the trip and provide a guard, Harry would try to get around him somehow, in a way that would reduce the danger towards her family, she decided. The very least they could do was help him along.

"Linda."

Linda Evans let the curtain fall back and turned to face her mother, who was deep in thought.

"Yes?"

"Do you still have any hair bleach?"

A/N: Oooooooo! What's going on? I'm not sure anymore...It's 1AM.


	3. Part I: Ch3

A/N: Writing new author's notes...Ah the joys of revision!

**Chapter Three**

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**July 16th**

At 2 a.m. the next morning Harry finally sighed and leaned back in his chair. Hedwig was off flying through the night, carrying a well thought out letter to Albus Dumbledore. His brain hurt. It had taken until _2 a.m._ to write one foot of requests. He had written five different versions and his floor was littered with crumpled bits of parchment, most of which only had a few words printed on them. But it was done. Without thinking, because at this point he _couldn't_ – the moment he signed his name at the bottom his brain shut down, he took off his glasses and shucked his grubby t-shirt and collapsed on his bed.

Harry woke with the sun the next day, though its warming rays were not the cause. His eyes opened just as Hermione turned around to give him the answer to a very important question he couldn't remember asking, revealing a waxy, pale face and bleeding concaved chest. The dream lingered long enough for him to take in the uneven bump of broken ribs through her blood soaked tank top, and the lacerations on her arms where the brain-things had gotten her.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes and running his hand through his untamed hair, Harry felt tears on his cheek and knew that he had been crying in his sleep again. The clock read 6:34 am.

"Damn dreams." His voice was raspy and dry. Hopefully that wasn't from screaming. He expected he'd find Vernon lying in the hallway when he went to shower, having suffered a heart attack on his way to wake his ungrateful nephew. It was an amusing thought, but couldn't seem to cheer him up.

An owl was waiting outside his window looking very displeased that Harry hadn't woken when it tapped on the window the fist eight times, and forced it to wait in a tree until he did. It was regal, snooty, and bore the Hogwarts Crest on its collar. Hedwig crowded him out of the window and out of her territory quickly after Harry took the letter.

There didn't appear to be anything unusual about the letter. It was the normal parchment paper that the headmaster always seemed to use, and the envelope was not at all unusually thick, but somehow Harry was awash in uneasiness. Foreboding poured from the yellowed paper in pulsing waves, cutting him with thin strands of reject. Brining up a few of his imagined failed escape plans. Wincing, he threw it onto his mattress, grabbed some clean clothes and headed to the shower.

_Dear Harry,_

_While I certainly do not think this to be the best of ideas I have cleared it for Tonks and Kingsley to accompany you next Wednesday to Diagon Alley from 1 PM until 4 PM sharp. They have been given strict instructions to call the whole thing off if your disguise is not thoroughly undetectable, as you have assured me it will be. _

_Albus Dumbledore_

Short, sweet, and to the point. And far more than expected. Harry ran a hand through his still dripping hair and sighed. Now he just had to figure out a disguise, and how to get some money without stepping foot into Diagon Alley before it was time.

Half an hour later Hedwig was on her way to Gringotts with yet another well thought out letter while Harry was jogging through the streets, scowling at the sounds of a wooden thunk and grunts and grumbles that followed him down every alleyway. It never seemed to take long to figure out who was on guard duty these days.

Moody was undoubtedly the most obvious with his wooden leg that didn't bend. Those constant thumping sounds simply couldn't be masked effectively, even with magic. To his credit, the old Auror seemed to realize this as he never bothered to hide his voice from Harry. Cursing the young man repeatedly was his chief form on entertainment on those days, to which Harry always responded by running faster and vaulting over trash bins. He could loose Mad-Eye for a good hour if he really tried.

Tonks followed well, but couldn't jump over a pebble to save her life, and usually made a mess of every alley they happened to pass through. She also had a nasty habit of throwing rocks at him half-heartedly out of spite once the workout was over, and she could be heard huffing quietly a few feet away.

Bill Weasley was another who could be heard huffing and cursing as he trailed behind. He was a fair bit more adventurous than the others, though, as he enjoyed whispering threats of revenge usually with the help of the twins to Harry once they had stopped to rest. He was the only one who dared to make any real form of contact with his charge, and for that Harry was thankful. More often than naught Harry responded with vague counter threats that usually involved the twins and Ron, and Hermione, and, on occasion, Ginny who happened to be the only one that had Bill worried. The two had a tentative banter-based friendship developing which suited them both.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was another whom Harry enjoyed having around. The athletic man was the only one whom Harry could only identify by the _lack_ of huffing or cursing. When they rested in the park after a run Harry rambled on about how no one else could keep up, and what he was going to do to Bill while Shacklebolt laughed quietly.

Today, however, Shacklebolt did not laugh. He had an offer to make.

"Any interest in learning to fight back as well as run, Harry?"

The voice came from behind him, Kingsley having taken a seat on the other side of the tree. For a second Harry didn't understand the question, but then his interest was peaked.

"You want to teach me how to duel?" he asked.

"No," came the answer. "You can't use magic right now, so that would be useless. I can, however, teach you how to fight the muggle way. Hand to hand."

Harry smiled at the thought. "Dumbledore would let you teach me?"

He wasn't expecting the answer he got. Weren't all the members of the Order in Dumbledore's pocket? Would any of them truly chance going against the Headmaster?

Apparently Kingsley Shacklebolt would.

He said, "Albus doesn't need to know. I'm here with you alone for three hours every other day. If he does object, I'll talk him into it."

Harry wasn't sure Albus Dumbledore could be 'talked' into anything, but he appreciated the arrogance behind the remark.

"When do we start?"

Linda sat quietly on a bench watching a large black man teach Harry Potter how to stand correctly and block punches and kicks effectively. In her lap there was a sketchbook with a half finished headshot of Harry himself. Currently, he was bald and she was having a tough time coming up with a suitable 'do. They could maybe cut his hair short and spike it, but that wasn't all that appealing. He had that odd scar, and surely it should be hidden? Make-up would work, but his fringe made a nice fail-safe.

He _could not_ keep that hair do though, not if it was going to be a decent disguise.

She tapped her pencil thoughtfully against the sketchpad. If Harry really was famous he was going to need a very good disguise. They could bleach his hair blonde, they could use make-up to alter his complexion, and they could (with time) get him new glasses, which would help a lot. Last night had been productive, actually. After checking their stock of hair bleach the Evans' had gathered to brainstorm. If they were going, they had a week to come up with a way to go about with their guide unrecognized.

A pair of golden, non-prescription contacts would be arriving within the next four to six days for him to wear, but that wouldn't be enough.

Linda chuckled to herself as Harry fell backwards, his stance not being nearly strong enough to withstand the larger man's light, but firm kicks, and spun her pencil around and lightly sketched a few lines onto the page. Could there be a potion that would grow his hair out for them? she wondered. He would look good with long hair.

* * *

A/N: Okay so it's only just over four pages, but I felt this would be a good place to end it. It's been a long time since I updated anyway, and you guys deserve a new chapter for doing your best to amuse me with your reviews. You know who you are! Those are the kind of reviews that motivate, I mean it! Thank you. 


	4. Part I: Ch4

Chapter Four!!!!

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**July 17th**

"I swear," huff, "the twins are going to," weeze, "test each and every one," gasp, "of their new pranks on you!"

Harry laughed at the eldest Weasley boy's exhaustion. _He_ had gotten his breath back nearly three minutes ago, but Bill was still trying to reclaim his.

"Let them try," he said jovially as he stretched. "I'm sure Ron would love to help me get payback for that teddy they turned into a spider."

Two children a few yards away gave Harry strange looks and quickly moved their game of football to the other side of the playground. Bill chuckled, and gasped again.

"Think I could ask a favor of you, Bill?" After two days of nothing in the way of a reply from Gringotts, Harry had come up with this idea. It was risky, but if Shacklebolt was willing to defy the Headmaster, then perhaps Bill, who was hailed a rebel-extraordinaire, would too.

"Depends on the nature of said favor, I suppose," came the reply.

"You know about my upcoming trip to Diagon Alley?"

"Yes. The whole Order does," he said. Harry couldn't say he was surprised with the direction the conversation was taking. "Everyone available is going to be lurking about the Alley while you're there, just in case."

Harry sighed. "Well, you know I have to have a disguise to even be allowed to go, and the Evans' and I have come up with a few ideas." They had. The night before had been spent with them organizing. He was very grateful for their help, and hoped the contacts would arrive soon, though the thought of dying his hair had him just slightly nervous.

"However," he continued, "to really make it work, I need to buy a few things, and for that, of course, I need money. Muggle money."

"I see," said Bill, nodding, not that Harry could see. "You want me to run down to your vault for you."

"If you could. I don't want you to get into trouble, Bill, but I don't really know what else I could do. I really don't want to ask Dumbledore for anymore favors."

"I wouldn't mind at all, Harry. All I'll need is your vault key and a 'permission slip' signed by you. How much do you want?"

Harry smiled. This was going amazingly well, and he was glad he hadn't had to use any of the excuses he had come up with last night.

"A lot, actually," he answered. "If I'm going shopping, I want to take the opportunity to get some new clothes, and I really don't have any idea how much things will cost."

He could hear Bill chuckling off to his right, and joined in.

"Your clothes really are terrible, Harry. No offence meant, of course!"

Harry shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. Didn't he know it!

"I know. They're all Duddy-kins' hand me downs, and he's a bit bigger than I am. Oh, one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Do potions count as underage magic?"

"Noooo, they don't, actually. What were you thinking of doing?" Bill sounded pleased with the question, and honestly curious. What did he think Harry was up too?

"Gonna grow out my hair," he answered.

Indeed he was. Linda had presented her brilliant idea to him the night of his first martial arts lesson. As the sun set, painting the sky a myriad of vibrant colors, she had approached him smiling and hugging her sketchbook to her chest.

"_Harry! Check it out," she said. With a flourish she opened the notebook and showed him a rather well done headshot. One that looked rather familiar. _

"_It's you," she said. "I just made your hair longer and gave you gold eyes."_

_He looked again and found that it was him. With pale blonde hair apparently braided (he wasn't entirely sure) and deep yellow eyes. _

"_That's good," he said. "I didn't know you drew."_

_The younger girl beamed up the inch and a half that separated them in height, and shook her head modestly._

"_I'm really not very good." _

"_Well you're a hell of a lot better than me."_

_She shook her head again, and turned her attention back to the drawing._

"_I have a hair bleaching kit at home, we thought we could use if you wanted to go about unnoticed when – or if," she amended hastily, "we go to the Alley. Also, we ordered you a pair of gold contacts. They're not prescription, so you'd have to wear your glasses too, but we thought they'd work well enough."_

_Harry nodded in understanding. Those were good ideas. However…_

"_And the hair?" he questioned._

"_Ah…Well, we thought maybe there would be some sort of a potion you could make or get somehow to grow out your hair."_

_Again he nodded._

"_There is," he said. "It's in my third year potions book, but I'm sure if I have everything I'll need for it – or even if it would be considered underage magic… I'll figure it all out," he said with a confident smile that was not at all how he felt. _

_If, in fact, potions were not considered underage magic then he still didn't know whether or not he had all of the ingredients, nor whether he could get them if he didn't. _

_Well, half of that problem was solved._

The smile Bill wore could be heard in his voice.

"Ickle-Harrykins is starting to rebel! And he's emulating me! I am touched and honored."

Harry snorted, "Yes, Bill. See I plan to grow out my hair, and dye it red. Then I will get my ear pierced, and I was lying about the wardrobe; all I want is a pair of leather trousers."

"Well, if you're going to get a pair of leather trousers, Harry, then you had better get that whole new wardrobe because those oversized tents your wearing just won't cut it."

Figuring it would be better to get things moving sooner rather than later, the duo ran off to the Dursley's house to get Harry's note of permission for Bill and for Harry to check his stock of potions ingredients. Unfortunately, he was missing a few things so the potion would have to wait two more days, until Bill returned.

Linda was ecstatic.

"You just want him to look like Edward Elric," said Mark accusingly. "You should have ordered brown eyes, they're more common than _gold_. No one really has gold eyes."

"They do, too!"

"Who is Edward Elric?"

At the time, Harry wasn't sure he should have asked that question. Both Linda and Mark were capable of the most terrifying grins he'd ever beheld. They seemed to promise pain, but later Harry had to admit that he had had a good time watching the first twelve episodes of some Japanese cartoon called Fullmetal Alchemist. Linda was obsessed apparently, and that was where she had heard of the Philosopher's Stone.

Two boys tried to bring their mother back to life, and in the failing process one lost his body and the other lost his arm and leg. In order to get said body and body parts back they went in search of the Philosopher's Stone. The older brother, Edward, joined the military at age twelve so that he could access any classified information that there might be on the Stone. And so went their exploits, as they gained friends and enemies along the way.

. Mark said he should consider himself lucky they were watching it in English, as his sister would happily have subjected them both to reading subtitles if she weren't so sure it would distract her new friend from the plot.

He managed to sneak back into his closet of a bedroom around 1:30 am, for once contented and with a full belly. Wendy Evans cooked a mean meatloaf, and had seemed pleasantly surprised when he had moved to help her with the dishes without a thought. When Linda and Mark had started to help, it became a conversation filled and altogether fun process – rinsing the dishes, clearing the table, and emptying and refilling the dishwasher. Even at the Burrow, where he often had to insist upon helping despite his 'guest' status, Harry rarely felt so much like part of a family.

He vowed to spend more time with the Evans' this summer, and even hoped to watch more of that cartoon Linda was so fond of, as though it had been deceptively funny, he felt it would get more interesting as time went on. The thirteen year old was adamant that Fullmetal was _the best_ story ever to enter the heads of man, and despite his condescending attitude towards the similarities in her disguise idea to Ed (and indeed he did look a bit like the main character in her drawing) Mark was just as bad as his sister when it came to the _meaningfulness_ of the show. Apparently it was wrought with life lessons and was terribly heartfelt, and somehow they both loved it that way.

Wendy agreed, shaking her head bemusedly as she said so. It was very meaningful.

When _she_ was a kid, she said, they made fun of such things. Her children were celebrating it.

**July 18th**

He went back the next night, after his lessons with Shacklebolt to watch another ten episodes, and escape the Dursley's business dinner. He was shocked, and hoped desperately that the real Philosopher's Stone hadn't been created using the same method the cartoon used – loss of human lives.

He asked Linda if there was another method the brothers would use, but she only smiled and refused to answer. When he turned to Mark the younger boy shook his head and pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key. Wendy laughed at the three of them and announced that she was going to bed.

Again Harry returned to the Dursley's just after one o'clock in the morning, this time to find a waiting taxi, and a red-faced, intoxicated Vernon saying farewell to an equally intoxicated, slightly younger business man if the neat suit and tie were any indication. His uncle glared at him nastily and told him to get inside, and not to stay out so late again, before apologizing to the younger man about his delinquent nephew, while the other gave Harry the once-over, leaving the boy immensely uncomfortable.

"Yes, sir," he said to his uncle dismissively, glancing nervously at the other man, before running quietly into the house, and up to his room.

He waited there, trying to remember what Shacklebolt had taught him about blocking and minimizing blows, thoroughly expecting to be treated as though he were seven once again, when Vernon was especially heavy handed. He stopped in the doorway, however, and only told Harry that he was to join them for dinner the next night, and that he was to be exceptionally well behaved if he wanted tonight the be forgotten.

"Yes, sir," he said, astonished. Uncle Vernon was absolutely hammered and _not_ going to vent frustrations on his nephew? No blood lust tonight? For some reason, Harry was not reassured. What the hell was going to happen at dinner tomorrow?

* * *

A/N: Ha ha! Six pages total, isn't too bad if I do say so myself. I'm on a roll this weekend. Hate to say that this probably won't happen to often, or that you might not get another update for over a week, but that is how I work.

Yeah, I could not resist putting FMA into this fic. I've been obsessed for a while. Linda wasn't supposed to be a big character when I first thought of Mark FMA obsessed sister, but in my head her role has grown. At least, in the sequel she'll be big, assuming my lazy ass gets through this part of the story and onto writing that one.


	5. Part I: Ch5

Chapter Five

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**July 19th**

"You made 'Dung run at four in the morning, Harry?" Bill asked, secure in the privacy of Harry's tiny bedroom. "I hadn't pegged you for a sadist, but wow."

Harry smiled evilly and Bill shivered theatrically.

"Well, I didn't want you running and tumbling with me, while you've got my potions ingredients and money on you. So, I figured I'd give him a workout."

"Well, thanks for sparing me, today."

"No problem," said the younger, "Did you get the ingredients?"

Bill chuckled. Over the last few days he found he liked Harry's sarcastic and to-the-point way of speaking.

"Yes," he said, "And your money."

The young man's grin was lopsided and infectious and Bill found himself doing the same. Cheerfully, he set down the small money bag that contained the Gringotts' version of a debit card, and small stack of bills, and the bag of potions ingredients.

"Well," he began, "are we going to get you some new clothes, or what?"

"No," he answered, picking up the bags and glancing inside. "We're going to make this potion first. Then, I'm going take a shower and wash it into my hair, and then we are going to get my hair trimmed. After all that, we can go shopping."

With that Harry dug into his truck and pulled out his cauldron and textbook and a few empty vials.

"Since you're already wearing an invisibility cloak," he said, everything into the cauldron for transportation, "you can carry these out of the house."

"Well, I suppose that makes sense," responded Bill, glancing around the drab little room. He couldn't wait for Harry to go shopping and buy some new things of his own. "But don't think you're going to con me into anything else."

The boy's grin made Bill nervous, like had just made a challenge he would come to regret. He took the cauldron and book, and replaced his cloak.

"Lead on."

Mark opened the door, still in his pajamas and with a bad case of bed head. Both Harry and Bill laughed while the boy enthusiastically welcomed them in. Wendy poked her head out of the kitchen doorway and nodded a hello, saluting Harry with her mug of coffee and chuckling faintly at the sound of her daughter bounding up the stairs to avoid being seen in her pajamas.

"Good morning, Harry," she said.

"Good morning, Mrs. Evans. I was hoping I could introduce you to a friend of mine, and ask a favor."

She smiled. "Well, by all means. Come on in here, and have some breakfast while you're at it."

"If you're sure…"

"Of course, I am sure, Harry. Come on, I'll put some more eggs in the pan."

"Yeah, Harry!" chimed Mark. "Mum makes good scrambled eggs."

Thanking them both, Harry followed the two of them into the other room, motioning for Bill to do the same.

"So who is this friend you want to introduce me too?" Wendy asked opening the refrigerator and pulling out a half full carton of eggs.

"His name is Bill," Harry said. Bill took his cue and removed the cloak, materializing next to Harry.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Evans," he said, nodding to her astonished face. "Invisibility cloak," he offered as an explanation.

She nodded slowly, not really understanding, but accepting the concept, and went back to breaking eggs.

"Nice to meet you, Bill. Would you like some eggs, as well?"

"Thank you," he said, "But I've already had breakfast."

"Ah, well," she answered. "You welcome to some coffee, if you'd like. The mugs are in the cupboard next the 'frige."

He took her up on this offer, handing Harry his cauldron and book.

"So, what was the favor, Harry?" asked Mark.

"Oh, er…" Harry glanced at the stove glad to see blue flame beneath the pan, then finished. "I was hoping I could use your stove for a few hours to make that hair growth potion, now that I have everything we need."

Wendy nodded from her position in front of said stove.

"Certainly, Harry."

"Thank you. It should only take about two hours, and then I was going to run off and get some new clothes."

Mark smiled, "You could use some."

"You're going shopping?" Linda entered the kitchen dressed in faded jeans and a t-shirt, hair neatly brushed, steadfastly ignoring her mothers knowing smirk. "Can I go with you?"

Harry smiled and shrugged. "If it's alright. You are the one who knows what my hair's supposed to look like, so it'd be good to have you at the barber's."

Smiling, Wendy shoveled some eggs and bacon onto a plate and set in front of her daughters crush.

"Well, I have to work today, so you'll have to take Mark as well," she informed them both.

Linda rolled her eyes, and her brother cheered.

"Sure," said Harry, glaring at Bill who was choking on his coffee for reasons unknown (to Harry), and had been since Linda entered the room.

Harry and Mark ate amongst a buzz of conversation, and Wendy walked out the door to a chorus of goodbyes. Once everyone was full and the kitchen clean Mark got to help make his first potion.

He didn't understand a lot of what the book said, but that neither surprised, nor hindered him. It probably had something to do with the fact that the book was two years too advanced for him, but he had Harry there, and Bill who turned out to know quite a bit more than the other. Mark learned quickly how best to chop and dice and crush ingredients as the potion called for, and then Harry let him put them into the bubbling cauldron while he stirred. Bill was there to answer any questions that either of the two younger boys, or Linda, had, and the Evans siblings had quite a few, though most were very basic. The time they spent crowding the stove passed very quickly, and by the end Mark was proud to say he had done most of the work. Harry bottled the potion and was quickly shoved up the stairs and into the bathroom so that he could wash his hair with their concoction and see if had worked, or gone horribly, horribly wrong.

He emerged toweling dry ink black hair that fell half way down his back. Linda squealed happily when she saw it.

"Let me braid it for now. _Please!_"

"That looks _wicked_, Harry!" chimed Mark.

Harry blushed and smiled in embarrassment at their exuberance, but let Linda run up to her room to fetch a brush and hair tie. Bill laughed heartily at the scene and sent a mental apology to his sister. Somehow he wasn't sure he wasn't ever going to get Harry as her knight in shining armor. But who was he to make such predictions? He had been alone and single for a long time. He sighed, but didn't loose his smile.

All of them were still young, Bill included, but he liked the idea of Harry and Linda, and he thought Mrs. Evans ("Call me Wendy!") did too.

"So are where are going?" Bill asked seeing that his youngest brother's hair was in order. "And how are we getting there?"

"We're going to the barber's first, and we will be walking," Harry declared. Mark groaned.

"Go get dressed, Earwig," urged Linda. He stalked to the stairwell glaring, not at all pleased with the need for proper clothing. Summers and weekends were pajama days.

"Don't call me Earwig!"

They managed to get Harry's hair trimmed and styled correctly with little trouble. It took considerably more effort to get Harry into clothes that well and truly fit. Having spent his life either in too large rags that ran the chance of slipping off if he moved wrong or wizard's robes, Harry found most proper fitting pants restrictive.

A half hour was spent arguing over the first pair, and between the three of them Mark, Linda, and Bill managed to convince their charge to buy and wear one pair before he bought anything else so that he could get used to them. They browsed through shirts after that giggling occasionally as Harry fiddled with his pants, quickly becoming used to the feel of them, but not able to get over the fact that they were new, and they were _his._

Harry was certain he wouldn't ever wear all of the clothes they bought, but it was useless telling any of the others that. Bill was having fun watching Harry get flustered as the others put him though the misery that was modeling his new clothes. Linda apparently loved to shop, and Mark appeared to be acting out some sort of misdirected revenge plan. Every time Harry complained about having to model the clothes he insisted that "if _he_ had to do it, then _so did Harry_," and would either crawl underneath the dressing room door to shove the older boy out for the others, or would give the best glare he could manage.

At a quarter to five that evening Harry found himself walking back to the Dursley's house sporting his new jeans, a pair of steel-toed boots, and a shirt bearing the legend "The Penguins Made Me Do It" over another long sleeved shirt. Linda said he would die of heat stroke before the week was out dressing like that, but he was more comfortable in the layers. Bill snuck everything else back into his bedroom, while he helped his Aunt, who paled drastically at the sight of his hair, with dinner.

Dudley squealed pathetically when he came into the kitchen and spotted his cousin. Vernon turned an interesting shade of magenta while his mustache quivered and twitched making Harry wonder if it were going to come alive and crawl off the obese man's face. He yelled at his nephew for about ten minutes repeating himself mostly.

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO GET AWAY WITH THIS BOY! YOU'LL BE EXPELLED AND YOU'LL SEE HOW I TREAT YOU THEN! YOU _UNGRATEFUL _FREAK! IF YOU DO ANYTHING IN FRONT OF OUR GUEST YOU WILL REGRET IT!"

Harry didn't pay attention to most of it and kept a decent poker face. His stoicism didn't help, though and only seemed to frustrate his uncle even more. The boisterous man didn't stop shouting until the doorbell rang and his guest had arrived.

Harry smirked at Vernon's back. He reckoned it must be pretty embarrassing to answer the door with his face so unbelievably purple.

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A/N: Six pages! Joy of joys. Hope you all like it. Yes, I am leaving the dinner for next chapter to torture you. HAHAHAHAH!! No, really I just don't really know what to write. Anyway, REVIEW. You know the drill. 


	6. Part I: Ch6

A/N: (12/21/06: Yes, I am too lazy to change all my old author notes...deal with it. I'm not usually up this late) Okay, I know this one took awhile. I got distracted by the newest Artemis Fowl book and it's freakishly annoying ending. It's a cliffhanger that I do NOT appreciate.

Chapter Six

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His amusement didn't last long. Remembering himself halfway to the door, Vernon turned around and glared venomously at his nephew.

"Get the door," he hissed.

Figuring he had pushed his uncle far enough for now, Harry did as he was told and answered the door.

"Please, come in…May I take your coat?...This way, please." He was the epitome of good manners.

The man, who called himself Jacob Dresden, awoke instant distrust in Harry. He looked familiar, he acted familiar, and he sounded familiar in the worst ways. What frustrated Harry the most was that he didn't know why. There was a reason somewhere, but it floated just beyond the edges of his mind, and he wasn't sure he _really _wanted to know. Mr. Dresden seemed to revel in the dark haired teen's discomfort, and took sadistic joy in talking to him.

"That's an interesting shirt, Harry." "I like your hair, Harry. It suits you." "Not hungry much, Harry?"

The Dursleys were visibly irritated by the focus their guest put on their nephew as well. This too, only seemed to please him as he puttered on, making a few innocuous comments to Petunia about the taste of dinner and Vernon about the working of Grunnings. It only got worse when they broke out the wine.

Petunia, Dudley, and Harry (so that it didn't appear that he was being neglected) had coffee while Vernon and Mr. Dresden went through half a bottle of red wine. Aunt Petunia, who appeared to be just as uncomfortable in the man's presence as her nephew (which, he decided, must be why she wasn't partaking in the wine), managed to sneak her way out of the parlor to do dishes after only an hour. Dudley lasted two before he claimed he should get to work on his summer homework. A warning glare from Uncle Vernon made Harry stay. Dodging Jacob's questions was difficult when they were almost non-stop, and the scrutiny made Harry feel as though he were a seven-year-old once again, being accused of something he hadn't done, but with no acceptable alibi.

Was it at all possible that this man was from Child Protective Services? Were the Dursleys under suspicion of abuse? Abuse of _him?_ No. Surely someone from the CPS would be more amiable.

For a moment he thought he had it. Death Eater. Of course! Whoever this was might have threatened the Dursleys, and was here to gather information of some sort. Harry took a sip of his coffee. But what was the point? If a Death Eater could get through Dumbledore's wards undetected, then surely Voldemort could as well. And the only information that he could want from Harry was the prophecy. What was the point of having the rest of the prophecy when it would be simple to enough to waltz into number 4 and kill him in his sleep without anyone knowing?

Harry only had one guard at night, same as day, and it was usually Mundungus Fletcher as after midnight Harry tended to stay in one place. The Boy-Who-Lived was a sitting duck the minute he walked through the door of his Aunt's house up until 7 when he got up to run. Were Voldemort watching him, he would know the guard schedules and have taken advantage of the situation by now. With a decent plan, Harry would be dead for hours before the guard changed and anybody even realized something was wrong.

So, this was no Death Eater. Harry wasn't has relieved as he though he should be.

Harry was allowed to go to bed at a quarter till midnight, not to say he went to sleep. That would have been asking for trouble, had he been even the least bit tired. Two hours later, Vernon poked his head through the doorway and gruffly informed his nephew that he would be dining with them again the next night. Harry fell asleep around 3am and dreamed of dead puppies.

**July 20th**

He woke up shaking, with tears streaming down his face. Disturbed he crawled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, and his new trainers. After their run, Kingsley showed Harry how to kick and punch correctly, then they had their first sparing match. Needless to say, Harry lost. Badly. But Shacklebolt complemented how quickly he was picking things up, and told him he was teaching Ron as well.

"So when you get back to Hogwarts," he explained, "you can continue training without me."

Harry smiled at the thought. Doing anything with Ron right now sounded wonderful. He hadn't heard from his friend more than once this summer, a cursory note that he was going to give his grieving friends some space and that if Harry needed to talk all he need do is send off an owl, and Ron would be more than willing to listen. Hermione had done the same, though her letter had been longer and riddled with advice like 'Sirius would want you to continue on living, Harry' and 'it helps if you talk about it.'

Harry didn't feel like acknowledging it, let alone talking about it, so he hadn't written back to either of them yet except to ask Hermione about a career book. She had sent him a note back listing three titles that she had found in the school library, and a post script that reminded him that she was there if he needed her. Harry wrote her an equally short response, thanking her for the list and the reminder, but said nothing else.

Shacklebolt and Harry continued sparring until it was time to switch the guard. Harry showered and changed and made his way to the Evans' house.

The exhausted teen was happy to find that his contacts had arrived. The Evans kids were enthusiastic as usual, and quickly Linda showed him how to put them in. All in all he looked pretty neat with gold eyes, he thought, but he liked his green eyes better. _Harry's_ fun with the contacts ended pretty quickly after that, but what came next would bring a smile to Mark's face for many years to come. Linda pulled out her make-up.

"What's all that for?" Harry asked hesitantly. The girl grinned. Mark bit his knuckle to avoid laughing in anticipation.

"I'm going to experiment," she said innocently. She was anything but innocent. This girl was trouble.

"…on who?"

She held up what looked like a black pencil menacingly. "You."

Harry winced. "Why?"

"Because," she began, setting the make-up on the counter, "You can't look like you tomorrow, so I have to do my best to make sure no one is going to recognize you. Wear some of the clothes we got at Hot Topic, and the eyeliner will be perfectly in character." She paused, and began organizing her bottles and pencils.

"I'm painting your nails black, too," she added, "with a sharpie, though, so it won't be so bad."

Mark couldn't hold it anymore, the look on his new friend's face was too perfect. He started laughing hysterically and didn't seem to mind when he fell backwards into the bathtub. He just lay there, giggling and chuckling, while Harry glared alternately at him and sister.

"No," the now golden-eyed boy stated. "No."

"Yes. Just let me do the eyeliner today and if you absolutely _hate _we'll think of something else. Please!"

Harry cringed. Linda spent too much time watching those Japanese cartoons. Somehow she had managed to transfer the pleading looks into something that look remarkably adorable on a real human face. He really hadn't thought that was possible.

"I'm going to hate it," he informed her.

"Please, Harry. Give me an honest answer of hatred and I will never mention it again," she assured him.

Beaten, he sighed and sat down on the rim of the bathtub.

"Close your eyes," she said, grinning. He did, and she went to work. The eyeliner didn't take long, and then they were onto covering his scar with foundation. Linda had been sent into the make-up section of a department store the day before to buy a few different shades in the hope that one would be close enough to what they needed. They were all glad to see that one had been a perfect match, and the scar disappeared. _That _Harry might have to keep buying. The eyeliner he could do with out, but did agree to wear it for Diagon Alley at the very least. He _did_ look different after all.

The three of them spent the day at the house watching more FMA. At episode 25 the past month, which he had done his best to ignore, finally caught up with Harry. The man named Hughes was one of Harry's favorite characters. He was intelligent and kind to the Elric brothers without withholding information as Mustang had a tendency to do, and he was constantly telling everybody about his little daughter who was the light of his life. Harry honestly hadn't seen his death coming, and it struck a cord within him.

Harry's mind flashed back to the Department of Mysteries as the man fell backwards. In his head it wasn't Hughes falling to the pavement from a gunshot wound, but Sirius falling through the veil, pushed by a curse that probably would not have killed him otherwise.

Tears filled his eyes as Harry put his head in his hands and rested his arms on his knees. Were he ever able to look back on this moment, he would be ashamed to hear himself whimper quietly. It took only a second to push the tears back a little then he _had_ to look back to the screen. He didn't see Linda and Mark's worried looks. The two were no longer watching the show, but communicating silently with each other and wondering what could be wrong. The death of a cartoon character wouldn't affect their friend so badly, so it had to be something else.

"Harry, are you alright?" Linda asked. She got no answer. Harry was focusing completely on the screen trying to push memories away and failing miserably. By the end of the episode, twin trails of tears wound their way down Harry's face and he was trembling with the effort of breathing normally and trying to blank his mind. Mark put a hand on his shoulder and shook.

"Harry, what wrong?"

Finally he seemed to come back to them. He sat up straight, and wiped the tears away, though he seemed surprised to find them there. Then he noticed how worried his friends were.

"Sorry," he croaked. He still wanted to cry, desperately. "I just had a flashback, for a second……I've never had a flashback before. They're strange."

"What happened?"

Linda glared at Mark. The question was rude, but Harry didn't seem to notice. He didn't answer for a moment.

Maybe Hermione was right, he thought. Talking could help. You never know…

"S - My godfather," he amended, "just died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry."

"I'm sorry, Harry." The two echoed each other's feelings, both genuinely sorry for their friend, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care about that. They hadn't known him after all. They were sorry for _him_, not Sirius. That was something he would never understand. People were sorry for him – Harry, but Sirius was the one who had died.

"Did Hughes remind you?" Mark received another glare, but didn't notice this one.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. It was just the way he fell…" He trailed off and tried to run a hand through his hair. It didn't work too well with the braid there, and the contacts had become uncomfortable. Sighing, he fished their case out of his pocket, and set it on the coffee table so that he could take the plastic lenses out of his eyes. He wiped his eyes again to push back the tears, and noticed the black smudges on his hand.

"Looks like I messed up your eyeliner, Linda." He said. "Sorry."

"That's okay," she said, shaking her head. She glanced at the clock and stood up.

"You guys hungry yet?"

She didn't wait for an answer, but got them all soda and a bag of crisps, then made them all a sandwich, before skipping into the next episode.

A while later, Linda asked how long Harry had known Sirius. Grudgingly, he answered.

"Only about two years."

And they went back to watching the show.

Then Mark asked what Harry's favorite memory of Sirius was, and they continued on in that manner for a few hours.

What angered you most about him? What did you love most about him? How did you meet? What did you talk about with him? What did you argue about with him?

Harry was getting angry with the two when they paused the show and explained that that was what their mom did for them when their dog, Kibbles died. It was a set of questions that helped solidify the dead person in your mind, so that you knew they were still there in your head. You couldn't loose people there.

"Writing it down helps, too," said Mark, "That way it's on paper and you can always remember your answers."

During his walk back to the Dursley's, Harry found he did feel better, if only a little. He would have to write to Hermione tonight, and tell her she was right about talking. The idea didn't stay in his head for long. The second he walked through the door his Aunt had him cleaning to ready the house for their dinner guest.

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A/N: Just over six page! Joy of joys. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. Yeah, that seems about right…. 


	7. Part I: Ch7

Chapter 7

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As though the flashback Harry experience earlier that day had been a catalyst, Harry found himself remembering things that night about Jacob Dresden. He was _not_ a good man.

The 'memory' (if you could call it that) caught Harry off guard. He had been passing out pieces of the cake Aunt Petunia had made for dessert after an increasingly uncomfortable dinner. Something was tugging at the back of his brain, demanding his attention. There was something he should know. What was it he needed to remember? It was infuriating, and not at all helping his mood, which was beyond dismal. Dresden continued to place focus on Harry, and remaining calm was quickly draining what was left of his self-control.

"Here you are, Sir," he said politely.

"Come now, Harry," said Dresden with a jovial conspiratorial wink, "We are not strangers, call me Jake."

_That's not what your name was last time,_ Harry thought through emotional exhaustion.

What?

But it was, wasn't it? Harry had only really met the man yesterday and that's what he said his name was. He collected himself quickly, and hoped his momentary lapse hadn't been noticed.

Harry smiled politely – poisonously -- and answered.

"But that would be horribly bad manners, Mr. Dresden. You are my elder after all."

Vernon snapped to with a glare that promised pain. Harry thought he saw his aunt's lip twitch in an imitation of a smile.

"_Harry_. If our guest asks that you call him by his first name then you will do so! _That_ is what manners dictate," Uncle Vernon informed him tersely.

Vernon must have wanted this mans business badly. _He_ was still calling their guest by his last name and he was urging _Harry_ to do otherwise? Something in the back of Harry's mind nixed that thought. This man wasn't in any sort of business that would need use of Grunnings. Uncle Vernon probably owed him money.

Harry pondered this as he slowly picked at his sliver of cake and sipped his coffee. How did he know these things? Every part of him agreed. The second that funny little voice in the back of his mind said something about this man it was accepted as truth. He didn't need anything from Grunnings, and Uncle Vernon probably _did_ owe him money, it wasn't unlikely. Smeltings wasn't a cheap school.

Along with all of this, Harry realized something else. He didn't just hate this man, he was _afraid_ of him. Harry was wary of many people, and he didn't trust easily, but _rarely_ was he afraid of people. Normally he viewed intimidation tactics as a challenge, but Dresden terrified him.

That night when Harry sat in his room, he tried to come up with a list of things he knew about the man calling himself Jacob Dresden. He was almost too afraid to do so. He poised his pen above the legal pad he had been taking notes on all summer, and froze. Did he really want to know all he knew about this bad, _bad_ man? Slowly, he began to write.

_He is bad._ (Well, that was certainly expected.)

_His name is NOT Jacob Dresden._ (Again, not surprising, but how did he know it?)

_I don't know his real name._

_Uncle Vernon owes him money again._ (Again?)

_He likes to hurt things._ (This was the most worrisome. Harry wanted to pause, but couldn't make his hand stop.)

_He likes to hurt dogs._

_He thought I would be beautiful when I grow up._

_He told Uncle Vernon he could get me to stop being a freak._

_Uncle Vernon told Aunt Petunia he was a shrink._

_He said it was good Uncle Vernon hit me. He said it would help me understand life. He hit me. He said when I was older he'd show me the opposite of pain. He said I would like it he killed the dogs and the birds and the cat and fish and the spiders and even little Jacob he said Uncle Vernon would let him kill me if I told anyone about him. He asked me if I could feel what the dogs and the cat and the fish and the spiders and little Jacob felt. He called himself Nick and I never want to see him again and I tried to save the kitten but it didn't work_

By the end Harry was shaking and crying again, lost in vague, indistinct memories about watching dogs burn to death, and fish flop about on dry land. Jacob Dresden was a _bad man_. He was a bad man who made Harry feel like a seven-year-old again, because that was how old Harry had been when he went for 'therapy' with him. That was how old he had been when he had watched him suffocate a newborn he had snatched from a grocery store. That was how old he had been when his teacher had recommended him to an advanced learning program, and Aunt Petunia had come up with the idea that maybe the magic could be suppressed. It would be so nice if they could be proud of him. Harry thought so too.

Therapy had been Uncle Vernon's idea.

The door flew open.

"Boy!" barked his uncle. "If you EVER give any of my guests that kind of lip again I will personally see to it that you live the rest of your pitiful existence in unending _pain_!" Vernon stopped here shaking with the repressed urge to shout.

"That being said, I expect you to join us for dinner again tomorrow."

Harry never raised his head, grateful for the curtain of hair that now shielded his face from the large man's gaze. It took tremendous effort to still tremors that racked his body.

"Yes, sir," he said. The door slammed shut, and his uncle was gone. He could not stay here. He _had_ to get out. He crumpled the yellow note paper and threw it to the side.

_Hermione,_

_I need to get out of here. I'm going to write to Dumbledore too, but if you could vouch for me I would really appreciate it. Please, believe me I just need to get out of here. _

_Harry_

_Dumbledore,_

_I know I'm asking a lot of you lately and that I probably don't deserve it, but I can not stay at the Dursleys house. When we leave Diagon Alley tomorrow, may I please go to the Burrow or Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place even? I know you think I need to be here, and I understand why, but I don't think Death Eaters would be able to get me if I were at Hogwarts._

_Harry Potter_

With nary a word, Harry tied both letters to Hedwig's leg and set her off.

"To 'Mione and Dumbledore, Girl. And hurry!"

The letters sounded stupid even to him, but he too frazzled to bother wasting time to word them perfectly.

Sleep didn't come that night. Harry wiled the hours away trying desperately to push away memories that insisted upon surfacing with little success. He had gone to stay with Dresden every weekend for six weeks. Much of that time was spent in the basement watching him try to decipher the mystery of death, and asking Harry opinion on everything he saw.

"And the truth shall come from the mouth of babes," he liked to whisper every so often. Then he plunge the knife into the cat or the dog's neck or chest or skull and ask Harry what he thought while the blood drained from the poor animal. He seemed to think that Harry, being such a strange, abused child, would have some insights into the meaning of death. Despite having been hit and cut so often, the small boy only had one scar. To Nick, that made him special.

Once he commanded that Harry remove all of his clothes so that he could search for scars. He didn't find any. Harry had to push very hard to keeps those memories at bay and only barely managed it.

He came out of his trance once he firmly locked the memories away in a corner of his mind to be dealt with later, and found his things had been packed. Oh, right…He had been packing hadn't he? To keep his mind off of things. Obviously it hadn't worked, but at least now he didn't need to waste more time in the morning. He left out a Fullmetal Alchemist t-shit and a pair of black, wide legged pants covered in chains and metal loops, to wear to Diagon Alley.

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A/N: You know what to do! 


	8. Part I: Ch8

A/N: This one took me a while, I know, but I had to make sure all the facts fit together. Luckily, reviews are a definite motivator, and they got me typing again after dinner. Undoubtedly, my schoolwork has suffered for this fic…Oh, well.

Chapter 8

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**July 21st**

Sighing, the nearly-sixteen year old boy glanced out his window. The sun was lightening the sky above Little Whinning already, and he hadn't done more than stare at the wall since he finished packing. Sleep had never come. _Might as well get an early start,_ he thought, pulling off his shirt and digging his workout clothes out of his trunk.

'Dung was long gone by the time Harry's chest began to burn and his legs ache beyond all tolerance. He kept running. Mark found him lying exhausted underneath the oak tree at nearly ten that morning.

"Are you okay, Harry?"

"Eh?" The older boy didn't move from his place, face down in the grass. "I'm fine, I guess."

"You sure?"

"Er…yeah."

Mark huffed, but decided to let it go. Harry was probably still upset about his godfather. He had talked to them a lot yesterday when he hadn't really wanted to, so he had the right to avoid it today, Mark figured, remembering how he had felt after Kibbles had been hit by the car.

"Well, we should probably get ready to go. It'll take a while to do your hair," he said. Groaning, Harry raised himself to his feet.

"Alright," he said, "I'll go take a shower and get dressed before I come over."

Mark shook his head. No point in that. "Just get your clothes. You'll have to wash the gunk out of your hair, so there's no point in doing it twice."

"Oh, alright then." Harry turned towards the Dursleys' house, opposite to the Evans'.

"I'll meet you at home?" questioned the younger boy. Harry turned around and nodded, smiling slightly.

"Yeah."

"Okay. See you in a few minutes!" As they went their separate ways, Harry decided he liked hearing the Evans' house referred to as home, and he couldn't wait to go back. He urged his protesting legs to speed up to a jog. Behind him he heard angry thumping.

Harry was a little surprised to find Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nyphadora Tonks ("Wotcher, Harry!") on the Evans' door step at half past eleven, but, of course, it did make sense. There was not point in heading all the way out to London if Harry's disguise didn't pass inspection. Both aurors were dressed convincingly, Tonks even conservatively in jeans and t-shirt with short brown hair and brown eyes. Kingsley inspected Harry's disguise thoroughly, nodding in approval, while the young woman with him grinned and tugged on his braid.

"I wanted to do that all day yesterday," she said, and turned to Linda.

"I like what you did with ickle-Harrykins. 'Lil ragamuffin needed some new clothes."

The younger girl laughed, taking an immediate liking to the woman.

"We should be going." Shacklebolt cut Harry off before he could respond so he settled for sending Tonks an exaggerated glare on their way out the door. She smirked. It was tired and almost forced, he noticed. She had gotten close to Sirius during the past year, hadn't she? Probably she was hurting as much as he was.

"You lot have fun driving!" She cheered weakly. "Kingsley and I will meet you at the entrance to the Alley. We'll be separated and following inconspicuously."

"Alright," Harry responded, knowing they wouldn't be the only ones.

He waved half-heartedly. Maybe he could sneak a few words with Tonks while they were in the Alley. Despite the disturbing things remembering had let loose inside his head, talking _had_ helped with his Godfather's death. Nothing else, but right now Harry would take what he could get in the way of relief. She could probably use some too.

With a small sigh, he climbed into the car and strapped himself in. With a weary glance out the window, he raised his hand in another minute farewell.

It was days like today that made Winifred Evans wish she had never gone to law school and had been a teacher like her mother had told her too. If she were a teacher she would have her summers off to spend at home with her kids. If she had her summers off she would have a better idea of what was bothering Harry. As it was, all she knew was that a relative he had been close to died recently. Something told her there was more to it than that; not to say that a death in the family wasn't hard. Harry just wasn't one to be showing such strain so quickly. It would take more than a flashback to have this sort of an affect.

And then of course, it was thoughts like this that made her glad she spent so much time at school. Without her psychology classes, Wendy wouldn't have had any idea what was going on inside that boys head.

All morning his smiles had been forced and his laughter strained. He was more subdued than usual, and more formal with her, saying 'yes, ma'am' and 'thank you Mrs. Evans' as opposed to 'alright' and 'thanks, Ms…er…Wendy.' He was stiffer and more hesitant to touch things in her house without asking first, and the bark of the neighbors' dachshund sent him pale and nervous.

Linda seemed to have noticed a bit of strange behavior, and Mark was almost entirely oblivious in his enthusiasm. He realized that his friend was upset, but did not think it could be anything more than the death of a loved one that had caused such a disturbance.

Wendy sighed, as her daughter leaned forward to switch the radio station. Hopefully today would ease Harry's tension a bit. He looked to be dangerously close to a mental breakdown, and while she might be technically qualified to deal with such a thing, Wendy really did not want to need too. A teenaged boy should not have to go through a mental breakdown. A teenaged boy should not have to loose a loved one. A teenaged boy should not have to wear a disguise to go shopping with his family.

She glanced into her rearview mirror to get a look at said teenaged boy. He was nodding along to Mark's excited ramblings, occasionally answering questions.

He was family now, unquestionably. It had all happened very quickly; one day he was the neighborhood scoundrel, the next her son and daughter's best friend. Wendy supposed it had something to do with her penchant for taking in strays. By the time she was eight, she must have had eight cats that came and went, eating from the dishes in her yard, and taking occasional trips to the vet. She had four dogs, one was blind and another had only three legs, the other two had just never been claimed by their original owners. All of them were gone now, except an old grouch of a cat named Mr. Tibblets.

From the looks of things she had upgraded from cats and dogs to teenaged boys.

They met up with their guard just out front of the pub's entrance. If Harry and Mark hadn't pointed out the sign neither Wendy nor Linda would have ever noticed the dingy little inn, but the boys had no trouble.

"Do you see it, Mark?" Harry asked, pointing ahead of their group. The younger boy's gaze followed his friend's arm, and his eyes immediately lit up.

"The Leaky Cauldron?"

"Yeah!" Wendy's hopes rose as she spotted the first real smile her newest child had worn all day.

"Where?" Mark dashed back to his sister and pointed out the sign, while Harry did the same for their mum. Wendy gave the dirty sign a speculative glance, before following her children in.

She was even more unsure when they made it inside. It was a dour little pub to be frank; not unclean, but dark and almost foreboding in its silence, and a sense of fear permeated the air. Harry felt it as well, she could see, but didn't pause.

"What can I do for ya?" The man wiping down the counter smiled politely, but was missing teeth.

"We're just passing through," answered Harry, "My friends here are new."

"Ah, I see. The little man there'd be a muggle-born?" Harry nodded and waved the family on through the back door, glad for the relative emptiness of Tom's pub. It seemed not many people were up for late lunches today. After opening the gate to the Alley (amid of chorus of astounded 'oooohs' and 'awes') it was plain to see why.

The cobblestone streets were dark, and barren of the boisterous warmth that usually flowed from one shop to another. Solemn groups of witches dashed quickly from door to door, while clusters of wizards stood just outside their favorite stores discussing rumors and the Daily Prophet in hushed tones. No one was alone.

Every few shops sported boarded windows and large posters advertising owl order catalogs for the stores that just hadn't seen the sense in staying open when the Alley was such a prime target for Death Eater attacks. The ground was littered with posters and pamphlets urging group travel and safety precautions meant to protect in the event of an attack. These were all distributed by the Ministry, and every Hogwarts student had received one at the beginning of the summer. To Harry they seemed quite useless.

The fifteen-year-old looked down the Alley with grim determination in his eyes.

The eleven-year-old boy next to him looked down the Alley with nervous excitement shining through his. It was plain to see how nervous his mother and friend were, but Mark couldn't help but want to run down the road ducking into every shop he could see. He could see his sister felt the same. Their eyes met and together they took the first two steps into the Alley.

Seeing Linda and Mark try to restrain themselves and their enthusiasm, Harry joined them and smiled reassuringly at their mother. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he strolled easily into the familiar shopping centre, conveying far more confidence than he felt. Absently, he glanced at his surroundings again, looking for his guard. Tonks was a few yards to his left inspecting the flowers outside a florists shop with a group of elderly witches. Kingsley was lingering on the edge of a group of wizards outside Florish and Blotts, apparently discussing an article in the latest edition of the Prophet.

"We can go in there first," he said, pointing at the bookshop, "We'll find the career books in there."

Wendy nodded nervously while Mark stuck out his tongue. "Sounds great."

Linda and Harry browsed for books while Mark and his mom flipped through one of the career books. Shacklebolt followed them into the store and pretended to browse the selection himself, while surreptitiously handing Harry his supply list and OWL results.

"These are going out today," he said quietly.

Harry wasted no time in opening the envelope and reading his scores.

_AstonomyA_

_Care of Magical CreaturesE_

_CharmsE_

_Defense Against the Dark ArtsO_

_DivinationP_

_HerbologyE_

_History of MagicD_

_PotionsE_

_TransfigurationE_

His lips twitched in a satisfied smile. He'd done pretty well. What had Ron and Hermione gotten? Of course, Hermione had probably received all O's. He would have to write to them both tonight. The thought of talking to his friends reminded him of the last letters he had written them. As inconspicuously as possible Harry found Shacklebolt again and asked.

"Am I going back to the Dursley's after this?"

The large man nodded slightly as he picked a book off the shelf to his right and handed it to the teenager, and then shouldered him on his way down the isle.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. Without a word Harry opened the book Kingsley had handed him and flipped through the pages with a severe look on his face. Hermione and Ron wouldn't be the only ones getting letters tonight.

His sulking was interrupted, happily, by Mark's cheerful 'HURRAY!' He ran down the isles of books clutching his supply list.

"H-Ed!" he exclaimed with a grin that cut his face in half. "Help me find these?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the nickname, but returned the smile with equal cheer.

"If you'll help me find mine," he said holding up his own letter. The younger boy nodded vigorously and read off his book list. Together they scoured the store refusing help from the clerk, content to find them on their own.

The clerk wasn't bothered at all, at least, not once they brought their purchases to the counter. Harry insisted upon paying, but Wendy insisted upon paying him back once they returned to the muggle world, saying that paying for her children's school supplies wasn't his responsibility.

They went straight from the bookstore with their now shrunken books to Ollivanders to get Mark his wand. He had a much easier time of it than Harry did, going through only twelve wands before finding one that fit. It was 12 ¾ inches, maple with dragon heartstring core.

"Very resilient," commented Ollivander with a sagely nod. Mark continued to flick his wand, enjoying the purple and green sparks while his family congratulated him. Both boys were fitted for their new robes next, before moving on to their new potions ingredients.

Though he hadn't qualified for Snape's NEWT course, Harry decided he would just have to study on his own and talk to Professor McGonagall about sitting the exam at the end of Seventh Year. Mark seemed to really take to the subject, something Harry was oddly proud of. He was more than pleased to pay for whatever supplies he wanted and he wanted quite a few extra to experiment with. Wendy was adding up a tab. It was rounding a corner after leaving the apothecary that Harry noticed the flashing lights.

It took a few moments before he realized just what the store was. _Weasley Wizarding Wheezes._

"You're not allowed to go in there, or Quality Quidditch Supplies I'm afraid," Tonks said from behind him. "Just as well…It's quite the eyesore."

"I guess I understand that," he answered sighing. The older woman smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry," she said. Shaking his head, Harry turned around to look on the other side of the street.

"Mark needs a trunk more than dungbombs, anyway," he said spotting the luggage shop.

"I don't know what a _dungbomb_ is," commented Wendy, "But I think you're right."

Mark seemed put out by the thought of not getting to find out what a dungbomb was, but it didn't last long. There was nothing in the Alley that wasn't interesting to him. They spent a while in the luggage shop, browsing and awing the merchandise. Mark got himself a featherlight bag with three times the capacity of an average one, as did his sister. Harry grabbed himself a bottomless backpack on a whim, and even Wendy found something after a thorough badgering from Harry and her two children – a featherlight briefcase of the finest leather for carrying heavy files.

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A/N: I say reviews are a motivator and _I am not kidding!_


	9. Part I: Ch9

A/N: Only four pages today, but I think it's a decent chapter. Not long, but decent. You guys can deal with it. Enjoy!

Chapter Nine

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On their way out of the shop Mark spotted the rack of chains hanging on the wall behind the counter.

"What are those for?" he asked, pointing to the thick chains.

"Eh? Oh, those, there? Why, those're shrink chains, m'boy," the shopkeeper explained. Never one to miss an opportunity to make even the tiniest amount of money, he pulled one off the wall to show to the family.

"See these runes, here?" he asked pointing out the tiny runes etched into the metal on each end of the clasp. "Those're shrink runes. You just latch this onto the handle of your trunk, an' it'll shrink, right down." He demonstrated on a display trunk next to the counter, attaching the chain shrunk it to a size no bigger than a box of matches. The chain shrank with the rest, making it looked like an odd necklace.

"How much are one of those?" asked Harry.

"Five Galleons an' nine Sickles each. Most people think that's a lot for such a little accessory but they don't realize just how much work it takes to make one of 'em."

Shrugging, Harry handed the man the money and tossed the chain in his new bag.

"Oh my! Is it really 3:30 already?" An elderly woman hovering by the shop door cried out as she checked her watch. Harry sighed and nodded, as she wandered off.

"Do you mind if we stop by the bank before we go?" he asked the Evans'. They all shook their heads.

"Not at all."

"Wizards have their own bank?" questioned Linda.

"I didn't tell you about Gringotts?" She and her brother shook their heads.

"Just about Hogwarts, and Hogsmead, and Quidditch, and –"

"No, you didn't tell us about Gringotts!" the girl said sharply to cut off her brother.

Harry smiled at the younger boy's enthusiasm.

"It's that big white building around the corner," he said as the neared the bend in the road. "The goblins work there."

Goblins, Linda decided, she would have to avoid. They were strange, green, pointy creatures and all of them appeared to be ill tempered. She, her brother, and her mother all looked every which way trying to take in all of the enormous structure. The entire thing looked to be made of white marble, but Harry informer her and her family that below the building were the caverns that held the vaults, and as far as he knew, none of them were made of marble.

Their guide talked quietly to a teller for a few minutes before nodding, satisfied, and turning back his charges.

"Do you, maybe, want to open an account? That way you won't have to exchange money every time you need to buy something, you can just get it from your vault."

Wendy smiled and nodded. "That would probably be a good idea," she said, and stepped up to the teller. The irritable goblin rushed her through the process, eager to be rid of them.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I understand why you want me to stay here, but I really do not agree with you. I need to leave. Your friends have probably told you about the man that has been coming to dinner by now, and I'm telling you he's up to something. I am not safe here._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

Harry glared balefully at the letter, not at all satisfied with it. It hardly mattered, though; no matter what he said Dumbledore was only going to tell Harry everything would be alright. Sighing he put that letter aside, and grabbed another piece of paper to write a response to Hermione's last note.

He had returned home to find Hedwig sitting atop her cage with a letter from his friend tied to her leg.

_Dear Harry,_ it said.

_I'm sorry, but I cannot vouch for you unless I have good reason. If you'll tell me what is going on and why you have to leave so badly I might, but until then, I won't say a thing. With Voldemort around you are safer at your relatives. I know you're not happy there, and wish there were somewhere else you could go and be safe, but there just isn't. Please don't be mad at me for this Harry. I want what is best for you._

_Love from,_

_Hermione. _

Running a hand through his hair, Harry wondered what he should write. To be honest he was mad at her. Why couldn't she just take his word for it? He never _lied_ to Hermione! Not about anything in anyway important. Sure there was the occasional "have you finished your homework?" that he couldn't give a straight answer to without being yelled at, but the important things always came out.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I don't see why you can't just take my word for it. I have never once said that I _needed_ to leave the Dursleys. I've said I want to and that I hate it here, but not that I needed to leave, and now I NEED to leave. Something bad is going to happen if I don't. And before you go mad, this has nothing to do with Voldemort. I am not safe here._

_Harry_

_P.S. I meant to say this in my last note, but in my panic (yes, I panicked) I forgot. Thank you for telling me I needed to talk about Sirius. I did talk about it to some new friends I've made and it did help some. So thanks. _

He sounded angrier than he wanted too. There really was no need for her to be angry right back at him, as she undoubtedly would, but Harry did not feel like revising at all tonight. Shaking his head, he tied both letters to Hedwig's leg and watched her fly off.

Needing something to occupy his mind, Harry looked to his new school books, but decided against it. He would have plenty of time to preview everything later. Right now it just wasn't appealing, but there was little to do to keep his mind off of Dresden. Glowering at nothing in particular, the boy sat back down at his desk and picked up his quill. He twirled it through his fingers before setting it down in front of him, and pointing a finger at it.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The feather didn't so much as twitch. Harry ran a hand through his hair. Admittedly, he hadn't put any feeling behind that. He tried again, this time putting the customary swish and flick motion behind it. Again there was nothing. The pattern continued on for an hour; Harry failing and then altering his approach and trying again. Finally, he became so frustrated that he punched the wall.

_FUCKING FLOAT!_

The feather jumped as the blood rushed to his injured hand.

_What the hell? _Taking a deep breath, he punched the wall again, eyes trained on the quill.

_FLOAT!_

Again it hovered for a second before falling. Refreshed by the sudden success he spent the next three hours experiment and nearly broke his hand in the process. He was slowly able to grasp the concept of wandless magic. It seemed that whenever the blood rushed to his injured hand, magic also rushed. All he had to do was divert a bit of the magic flowing to his injuries to what he wanted to do. In the end his hand was throbbing, but the most he had to do was touch it to get the magic flowing and he moved on from floating his quill to filling Hedwig's water dish, and changing the color of his bed spread. He summoned a book and transfigured a piece of paper into a bit of cardboard. By two am, he was exhausted and collapsed on his bed.

**July 22nd**

He woke the next morning still tired, but his night was happily free of dreams, as it usually was when he practiced wandless magic. He rolled out of bed, and shrugged into clean clothes before heading out to run.

Bill came to him in the park with a thick envelope bearing the Gringotts seal.

"Thanks for picking that up for me, Bill."

"No problem," he answered. "I don't suppose I should know what's in there if I want to avoid lying to Dumbledore."

Harry glanced at his friend. "No, you probably shouldn't. It's nothing that will cause any harm."

Harry didn't need to see or hear Bill to know that he didn't approve. He did feel bad, but he had to have a place to go when he left. And he did not believe for a second that Dumbledore was going to take him away.

Yesterday, at Gingotts, he asked for a summary of his finances and investments, with detailed information of all properties he currently owned; including whether or not they were occupied.

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A/N: REVIEW! Thank you so much, those who have already. Your opinions mean so much to me. Thank you. 


	10. Part I: Ch10

A/N: Chapter 10 is here! Enjoy.

Chapter 10

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He would wait for Dumbledore to come out and tell him he wasn't going anywhere before he left, but he was going to leave. He ran back to number 4 to put the envelope away and shower, happy that Dudley seemed to have other things to do for the day and had left him alone.

"Watch this." That afternoon at the Evans' he, Mark, and Linda were settling in for an afternoon of mindless television after thumbing through their new books. When Harry had their attention he clapped, grinning. Feeling the minute traces of magic the rushing blood brought to his hands, Harry mentally tugged at the threads, pulling more out of his core. When he felt he had enough for the task, he thrust his hands out in front of him, and levitated his new Defense text.

"_WOW_!" Mark exclaimed while his sister squealed in delight.

"How'd you do that? I thought you had to have a wand."

"I don't know," Harry said, shrugging sheepishly. "I just kind of figured it out last night. Had to punch the wall five times before I got the hang of it."

"You know you look like Ed when you do that, especially with the blonde hair." Mark tsk'ed at his sisters remark, but then took a good look at his friend.

"She's right, actually, Harry. Are you going to keep your hair like that?"

Harry tried to get a look at the hair framing his face and shrugged again. "Er…I think I'll keep it like this for a few days," he said thoughtfully. "I'll change it back before term starts though."

Linda nodded and pressed play. "We should get you a red trench coat for Christmas," she mused. "Then we could cosplay."

Harry left the house actually _angry_ at Edward Elric for having killed the man who kidnapped his brother. Not that the character had meant to, really, and not that he hadn't been mad at himself, but that damnable cartoon kept bringing up uncomfortable subjects. The certainty that he, himself, would have to kill one day was not something Harry wanted to carry with him. He would much rather have had the idea that 'it would never happen to him' influencing his every choice, like every other teenager in the world. But no…Harry Potter got stuck with reality.

Glancing at his watch, Harry ducked into an alley that was a shortcut from Wisteria Lane to Privet Drive. It was 4:45 already, and his aunt would want him to help with dinner again. Over the past few days he had found that it was best not to provoke the stern woman, as she seemed to be irritated with her constant dinner guest. Every night she seemed stiffer and had a harder time keeping a civil tongue in her head, so she merely stopped talking. Harry could relate. Unfortunately, Dresden, as Harry continued to think of him (years ago he had gone by the name of Nick, but that was too familiar for Harry to stand using), refused to let him get away with complete and utter silence. He also seemed displeased with Harry's new hair color, saying it 'washed him out.'

"Well, I like it," Harry responded, testily and Dresden had moved onto a new subject, obviously displeased. Vernon had smacked him good for that one later, and then informed him of the next night dinner arrangements as usual. The young man hardly blinked at the act of violence, memories of worse still fresh in his mind. The disapproval was one of Harry's main reasons for keep the hair color, despite the fact that he would much rather have his old color back.

Harry found he was glad to have left his hair free today, as unlike previous nights he had a way to hide his face. He hunched over his food, and let a curtain of pale blonde block him from the man sitting to his right. Regardless of his efforts not to provoke his Aunt he felt she could deal with having her delinquent nephew slouching when he had been well behaved otherwise. Really, she was probably just jealous she couldn't do the same. Her hair was clipped back, unmoving even she shook her head at compliments to her cooking.

"Oh, not at all," she said quietly, with a barely polite smile. "But thank you for saying so."

_She_ got away with answering like that all night. Practiced, expected, routine words that meant little, and could not be read into or truly analyzed. All Dresden could do what grin sadistically at her discomfort. Constantly, Harry felt as though he were being picked apart for clues to something; even when all he gave were one word answers, or sometimes none at all.

"Yes." Squirm. "No." Shift. "I don't know." Look away. "Sometimes." Sigh. His silent tormentor took in everything and was drawing conclusions from it – conclusions Harry wasn't getting.

As usual, by the end of the night he was ready to scream. Needing good news, Harry pulled the Gringotts envelope out of a drawer and slit it open. He skimmed over a formal note from the bank that said little more than "thank you for going with Gringotts, we hope you're not leaving because that would be bad for us and you as well" and over financial figures that he didn't really understand, except to the extent that he had a lot of money. Finally he came to his property list. Apparently, he owned quite a bit of empty acreage in Australia and a château in France. There were four townhouses scattered throughout London. Three of them were currently being rented. He circled the address of the empty one and pulled a dusty atlas off the bookshelf.

"Boy!" He looked up as the door slammed open. "Your aunt, cousin, and I are going out to dinner tomorrow night. I want you here, all night starting at 6 o'clock, not gallivanting about the neighborhood. Understand?"

Harry blinked, confused. What happened to dinner with Dresden? "Yes, Sir."

His uncle's mustache twitched irritably before he shut the door and stalked off down the hallway. Somehow Harry didn't like the idea of being home alone when Dresden knew where he lived. Immediately, he decided that he would have to be packed and ready to go before six incase something happened and it looked like he would have to leave early.

His plan was simple, really. Around 2 am, when Mundungus usually took up the guard, Harry would shrink his trunk and use his invisibility cloak to sneak out of the house and over to the Evans' so that he could tell them he was leaving and ask them to call him a taxi. The taxi would meet him on the edge of the park, well away from both Wisteria Line and Privet Drive and drop him off near Diagon Alley. From there he would walk to the train station, and then to the town house.

If he had to leave earlier, he ran the chance of Moody spotting him. What could he do then?

Harry continued plotting and planning while he casually packed his things, throwing his invisibility cloak, money, and photo album into his new book bag, and tossing balled-up, half-written letters into the dustbin, ready to be taken out in the morning. Hedwig flew in the window just as he finished.

"Hey there, girl. What have you got?" Three letters. Harry blinked in surprise; he was only expecting two. Who else would have written him? Curious, he set Hermione and Dumbledore's responses aside and inspected the third envelope, instantly recognizing the handwriting. It was from Remus. He hesitated a moment, not quite sure he wanted to hear what his ex-professor had to say just yet, but pulled the letter out anyway. Talking helped right? Hadn't it helped before?

It wasn't so much a _letter_ as a _note_, and Harry crumpled it immediately.

_Dear Harry,_

_I first want to apologize. This is incredibly unfair to you, but I am leaving. I have done a lot of thinking over the past few weeks, and have decided to leave the country, to leave the war, behind. I hope you can understand Harry. Please, do not try to contact me. I'll miss you._

_Love always,_

_Moony_

Moony. Moony, Moony, Moony. FUCKING _MOONY_! With slow, deliberate movements, Harry took a seat on his bed, and put his head in his hands, trying hard not to think. Instead, he focused on breathing, slowly and evenly. It was quite a bit harder than he would have thought it would be previously. He avoided moving as though it would disrupt the fragile calm he was building, and perhaps it would. When he felt stable enough, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

So. So, Remus was gone. Remus couldn't handle loosing Sirius and fled the country to find solace. Remus was an idiot. Remus was a selfish bastard. Plain as day, right? Right. Never mind that Harry was going to write him a letter as soon as he got out of the Dursley's, and offer to talk to him about what was going on. Never mind that Harry could use his support through all this.

So…Remus was an absentee, selfish bastard. Harry could deal with that. Everything would be alright. Everything. Would be. Alright. With that in mind, Harry grabbed Hermione's letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_If you would just tell me what's going on, I could help you, but if Dumbledore doesn't believe you without a detailed explanation, then I don't see what good it would do for me to back you up. I believe you, I really do, but the fact is that I need to know what is going on to be of any use. On a better note, I am glad to hear that you've been talking about Padfoot, and even happier to know that it's helped. How did you do on your OWLs?_

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

Dumbledore's note was just another rejection. It was polite, though sternly phrased, and exactly what Harry expected. Huffing angrily, he tossed all three letters into the dustbin and crawled into bed.

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A/N: Well, it's not very long, but it seemed like a good place to end this one. What do you guys think of it so far? Tell me, please! 


	11. Part I: Ch11

A/N: Finally, chapter 11. It's short though. I worked diligently, but it doesn't seem to have helped much. I'm afraid I don't really know how this bit is going to play out, so it's been hard. I felt I should give you guys something, though.

Chapter 11

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Harry came out of backwards summersault on his feet and blocked a blow to his head in one fluid motion. He and Shacklebolt jumped immediately into sparing after Harry's morning run, and had been at it for about two hours. Really the Auror was quite impressed. Harry was picking things up very quickly, and they spent most of their time sparring now; getting him used to really using the moves he'd been taught. With Ron, Kingsley had to stop and correct moves and show where an opening was every few minutes, and it wasn't long before Ron would have to rest, or collapse. When he and Harry fought it was almost nonstop unless the young man had a question and that wasn't often.

And Harry's practice didn't stop when he left either. Tonks and Moody often reported that Harry was showing the young Evans boy how to kick and block as well, a habit that was sure to cement the moves in Harry's own mind. He also got into occasional scuffles with that Piers boy that chased him every so often with his cousin and their friends. Unlike in the beginning of the summer, the other boys were also walking away with bruises if they caught Harry at all. More often than naught Harry lost them by jumping over walls and crawling onto roofs with supernatural ease.

Today, Harry had yet to rest for more than a minute, though he had to be exhausted after all the strenuous exercise he was putting himself through, and Kingsley was worried. He backed off for a few seconds to catch is own breath, before throwing another punch. Harry dodged it and sent a kick flying in return. Something was bothering him. Perhaps he had sent another letter to Albus, being told he had to stay here was sure to put him in a bad mood. Harry dodged another punch and surprised the Auror by grabbing the out stretched arm at the wrist and shoulder without a thought and running with it, bent at the waist. Kingsley was unprepared when the boy suddenly reversed direction and kneed him in the gut.

He slumped to the ground, rolled away and climbed to his feet wheezing.

"Nice move." Harry didn't respond. "Mind telling me what has you in such a bad mood?"

After a long silence he got an answer.

"Did you know Remus had left?"

"You mean Lupin? I haven't seen him for two days, but that's not odd. Did he tell you he was leaving?"

The boy nodded sullenly, and Kingsley felt for him. Loosing Lupin so soon after Black could not be easy on him. He was probably feeling quite abandoned, and being away from the people who really cared about and understood him wasn't helping. It was his birthday soon, too, wasn't it? What were the chances Dumbledore could be convinced to let him see his friends, even if only for a few hours in this very park? He would have to ask.

"He probably just needs to clear his head. He'll be back."

Harry shook his head. "No he won't."

With that, he turned around and shuffled back to Number 4 to take a shower. Kingsley collected his cloak and followed, worrying. He patrolled the perimeter of the house, waiting for the teen to come back out, so that they could talk. Harry couldn't _know_ that Lupin was never coming back. The werewolf was too strongly involved to back out, now. If he left it was for a brief reprieve and nothing else. Dumbledore would drag the man back to England by his tongue if he had too. He could not loose his link to the werewolves.

This was common knowledge amongst the Order, but Harry didn't know all the Order knew. So, Harry would worry and be upset and angry and distracted. He would feel better once he knew what was likely to happen.

Auror Shacklebolt waited for his charge to come back outside, so that things could be explained, but he didn't come, and after nearly an hour the large man had to leave.

Harry skulked about the shopping centre, not really interested in any of the stores he saw. Shacklebolt was probably still waiting for him to leave number 4, but he didn't really care. Tonks was on duty after him today, so he was safe from X-ray eyes glancing through the walls of the house to make sure he was still safely tucked away in his room. Moodily kicking a pebble down the sidewalk, Harry looked around again, hoping something would catch his eye. He walked a while longer before entering an optometrists office on a whim.

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the receptionist as she fluffed her hair in front of her compact mirror.

"No."

"Would you like to make one?" Harry shrugged.

"You don't take walk ins?" The woman looked at him as though he were mad, and perhaps he was. He shrugged again. She looked down at her ledger.

"You are freakishly lucky," she said. "Somebody canceled yesterday. Come back in two hours."

"Thanks." Marginally satisfied, Harry walked off searching for food. Two hours later, Harry was full, and his bag held a few new odd trinkets. He walked into the office for the second time that day fiddling with a Chinese finger trap he won with twenty tickets in the nearby arcade.

He was surprised to discover that his eyesight had indeed gotten worse over the years. He hadn't noticed that things had gotten blurry, but a few of the lenses were amazingly clear. In any case, he left quite happy with his choice of store to enter and the frames he picked out, as well as the two sets of working contacts that would also be on their way within the next few days. He would come back in two weeks to pick it all up. The inconvenience of returning to Privet Drive would be worth it.

Once again without anything to do, Harry ducked into another shop and glanced around. It was a electronics store, which was perfectly useless to him, but he wandered around for a bit anyway. It was large, and he wasted over an hour looking at all the strange technological treats. For some reason he even managed to walk out with a portable DVD player, and a full stock of batteries, not to mention a few movies as well. Included in his new DVD library was the entire Fullmetal Alchemist series. It may be pointless, but he wanted to finish the story, and he rather doubted he would be seeing the Evans' for the rest of the summer.

With that in mind, Harry grabbed anything and everything that caught his eye so that he could spend his off time doing more than sitting around, waiting the school year to begin.

Having grown bored in with shopping, Harry decided to walk back to Wisteria Lane and make the most his remaining time with Mark and Linda. Casually, he entered an empty alley and pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pack and slipped under it for the walk home.

He passed by Number 4 to see if he could locate Tonks. It was frustratingly easy, she was rustling the bushes. Harry rolled his eyes and moved on, nearly insulted that Dumbledore felt it so very important that _this_ guard continue to tail him. _Every one of them_ was easy to spot at any given time. Really, he thought, wouldn't it be more effective just to give him a portkey to take him to Hogwarts incase of emergency? Surely, these people could be put to better use in the war effort during those three to five hours than they were following a snotty teenager around.

A/N: I'm so sorry! It's so short. I tried though, I really did. I swear! So yeah, suggestions would be greatly appreciated, if only to get my brain working with this fic. I have been thinking about it, but I swear I've been struck by the weirdest type of writer's block ever. I've got bits in my head, but I just can't get writing.

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REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! 


	12. Part I: Ch12

A/N: And the dreaded night arrives. First I'd like to say thank you all for your wonderful reviews. Never once, in a million years did I think I would get so many! Especially thanks to: moonypadfoot, KeyKeeper12, Butler, Lyra Raenes, Dark-Angel-Tears, and Seku238. Of course there are more of you; those are just the people who I noticed reviewed numerous times. I love you all. You boost my ego. :

Chapter 12

* * *

Harry left that night after hours of school work. Mark was full of questions regarding every one of his subjects. He said he wanted to be well prepared. Harry figured he would end up in Ravenclaw for all the voluntary studying he did. They spent a lot of time going over potions, as that was what Mark was most interested in and what Harry felt he should be most prepared for. He had knack for it, making connections between ingredient interactions that Harry never noticed.

They went over Charms and Transfiguration and Defense momentarily. Linda and Mark insisted Harry demonstrate most of the charms they found in the book and were baffled by his explanation of how wandless magic seemed to work. Linda commanded that some of their time be spent finding connections between the creation process described in a book on magical prosthetic limbs she bought in Florish and Blotts and all the other subjects. When asked why she bought the book she shrugged and insisted that she wanted to create automail, the mechanical prosthetics used in Full Metal Alchemist. The process was never explained in the show, but it appeared to be part medical and part mechanical.

"I seems like it should be possible," she said. "It would probably be easier to translate nerve signals into movement with magic than with computers, but I think both could work. Then I'd have double the customer base."

"Err…yeah." Harry nodded. It made some sort of sense, but he wasn't a businessman.

After their foray into the world of prosthetics, they dipped into Linda's alchemy books before having dinner, and discussing the possibilities of absolutely everything. They had to stop to explain things to Wendy often, and even then, she still didn't understand.

For the first time, Harry thought he understood Hermione's excitement over the simplest of magical things and their possibilities, and wondered why he never paid attention to her when she went off on her tangents. She wasn't the smartest witch in their year for nothing, and she probably had a wealth of interesting ideas.

On the walk back to the Dursley's Harry felt a keen sense of loss. He did not want to leave the Evans'. He felt at home with them, like part of a family. That was something he had never had before, and it was something he would miss horribly in the coming month. Next summer as well.

Nothing Dumbledore could say would convince him to come back here.

He pushed open the door to Number 4 with some trepidation. He found Aunt Petunia in the living room adjusting Dudley's bowtie.

"Boy, come here," she said patting her son lovingly on the shoulders. Dudley waddled off to his room, sticking his tongue out at his cousin childishly. Harry walked up to his aunt scowling.

The woman glanced around suspiciously before pulling a wad of money out of her tight silk sleeve and pressing it to her nephew's hand.

"We're scheduled to be back around eleven-thirty. If your uncle has nothing untoward planned for you, your absence will go unnoticed. If he does have something planned you should be packed and ready to go when you return. I do not believe it is safe for you to stay here. I don't care what your _Headmaster_ has to say." She explained it all in hushed tones, carefully fiddling with her faded blonde hair. Harry was stunned. His ever neglectful aunt was helping him?

"Go to your room." Harry went to the stairs without a word, but paused before climbing them. There he glanced back at his aunt who was watching him go with the impassive look he had seen her wear for most of his life. He nodded appreciatively and shoved the money in his pocket before continuing on.

Already packed, Harry could think of little else to do but practice his magic. It wasn't very appealing; using wandless magic tended to wear him out and he didn't want to screw up his chances of escape by falling asleep. He sat listlessly in his room waiting for what was sure to be his doom and trying not to think about it, but quickly grew bored. He was tempted for a moment to pull his legal pad and pen out of his backpack and write a scathing letter to the Headmaster, but decided against it. There would be plenty of time to hate Dumbledore if something bad did happen. Until then he would have to hold his temper. Instead, he pulled out his DVD player and popped in a movie.

He heard Dudley and Vernon thump down the stairs during the opening credits, and the door slam shut. Half way through his second movie the door opened again. Cautiously, Harry turned off the movie and stored the player in his bag. He picked up the chain and clipped it to his trunk before slipping it around his neck.

The coil of fear in the pit of his stomach tightened. Someone was coming up the stairs; by now they were nearly to the top. Quietly, Harry walked towards the bedroom door and went to pull his cloak out of the bag, thinking there was a good chance he could escape unnoticed. His hopes were dashed however when he heard the footsteps come up to his door. He backed up as the knob turned and the door swung open.

"Hello, Harry."

"Mr. Dresden," Harry responded sarcastically, sneering at the man. "Or should I say Nick?"

Dresden grinned sadistically and surveyed the teen in front of him. The quivering note in his voice was immensely pleasing.

"You know, I wasn't sure you had remembered me, Harry. Nice to know I was wrong."

Harry slung the bag back onto his shoulders and readied himself for a fight. Jacob Dresden was not Uncle Vernon. He stood just over six feet tall, a few inches shorter than the Dursley patriarch, and was less than half his size. But he was still twice as thick as Harry, and more than half a foot taller. And he was blocking Harry's only exit.

Fighting Kingsley Shacklebolt on a regular basis evened the playing field for Harry, as the two were roughly the same weight, and the black man a few inches taller, but Harry didn't know what to do in such a small space. Harry would never be able to wrestle this man to unconsciousness.

"You do know that you have never heard my real name before, don't you Harry? I have no criminal record either."

"_Don't touch me._"

"How cute _Harry_. You think you can fight me."

Without warning Dresden rushed him, and Harry found himself pressed into his mattress while the vile man on top of him shoved a handkerchief into his mouth. He bit a finger in retaliation and nearly choked on the cloth for his trouble. Relentlessly, he twisted and kicked and punched the older man in the kidneys, but strong arms held him still, one arm above his head and the other to his side, bruising his wrists. Slowly but surely, Dresden manipulated one of Harry's arms beneath his back freeing one of his own hands to grope and undress his captive. Harry worked furiously to free the arm still held above his head, trying to ignore the calloused hand and vile tongue caressing his body. When finally he managed it he slammed his fist into his attacker's temple with as much force as he could manage.

Dresden rolled off clutching his head, unprepared for the hit. Harry jumped up, and pulled the handkerchief out of his mouth before clapping his hands together hard and shoved them to the man's chest.

"STUPIFY!"

There was no light, the spell having gone straight into his body, and Dresden fell to the floor limp. Carefully, Harry checked himself over and zipped up his pants, shaking, and turned around and left. He slipped down the stairs, heedless of the creaking steps, and pulled on his father's invisibility cloak. It appeared that _Nick_ or _Jacob_, or whatever his real name was had been a bit too eager to begin his fun to shut the kitchen door. Later, Harry would consider this to be lucky in a morbid way.

He tiptoed quietly out of the back yard and into the street. He trudged down the center of the road cursing himself for not thinking of magic in the first place. He was a _wizard_ for Merlin's sake! His first thought should have 'what spell can I use?'

He made it to the Evans' and knocked lightly on the kitchen door. Linda was there, sitting at the table pouring over a book with a steaming mug in hand. He knocked louder when she failed to look up. This time she looked up and her eyes slowly traveled to the back door. He knocked again and pulled the cloak off so that she could see him. Immediately, she jumped from her seat and let him in.

"What are you doing here?" she asked worriedly, "Are you okay?"

Shaking his head, Harry slipped his back pack off and folded his cloak.

"Can you call me a taxi?"

"What?"

"I'm leaving. I have to leave. Can you call me a taxi?"

"Harry, why?"

"Harry?" Wendy came in holding her dressing gown close. "What's going on?"

The green eyed boy turned to the woman pleadingly. He had never managed to stop shaking and was pale and near tears. Wendy wanted to take him in her arms and hold him until the pain went away, but he flinched when she put a hand on his shoulder, so she settled for hovering worriedly.

"I need you to call me a taxi," he said in a dead voice. What happened to him?

"What for?"

"I have to leave," he said slowly. "I have a place to go, I just need a taxi. Can you phone one for me?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Harry."

"_Please!_ Please. I need to go. I cannot stay at my relatives any more. I have to get away."

His head was bowed, and he trembled in shame, looking frail though his stance was for fighting. Wendy couldn't deny him peace and it didn't look like he would be getting any while in close proximity to Privet Drive. She wanted to offer him a place here in her home, but knew that that Headmaster of his would probably insist he return to his relatives house.

"You are to call us tomorrow, and let us know what is going on," she said, picking up the phone. "Linda, write our number down for him."

The girl dashed into the living room searching for paper and a pen. In moments Harry had a slip of paper shoved into his hand.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" Harry nodded, and sank into a chair holding his hands in his head.

He sipped his drink and allowed the two with him to rub his back comfortingly. He had flinched at first; not wanting to be touched at all at the moment, but Linda hadn't removed her hand. As Wendy sat down next to him, he laid his head down on his arms and felt the younger girl's hand start moving on his back. It was odd, but he found himself quickly lulled to a doze and then to full sleep.

* * *

A/N: Yes, this one is short as well…Sorry. I haven't actually put a ton of thought into the second half of Harry's summer. I've been more worried about how this chapter was supposed to go, honestly. Aside from the sad length, I think it went pretty well. So, tell me, is the confrontation with Dresden believable? That's what's worried me really, and I'd like to get all of your opinions on it.

And (while I may regret asking this) do you guys have anything you really want to see happen this summer? I'm not saying it'll happen, but it would be nice to have some idea floating around.


	13. Part I: Ch13

A/N: Over fifty reviews! This is so awesome! I admit it, I'm a review junkie. Give me my fix!

Chapter 13

* * *

**July 23rd**

As always Harry woke with the sun. Its rays hit his face with an unusual intensity today, forcing his eyes to open. Squinting in the light, he froze. Where was he? He was in a large room lying next to a dead fireplace on soft blue carpet. The walls were a khaki color and all the furniture was covered in sheets. It seemed he had been too tired last night to even bother falling asleep on the couch.

There were three big windows dominating one wall, all of them uncovered, which explained the bright light. Aunt Petunia had curtains covering every window at her house, even in his room. The place appeared to be empty. Of course! He was in the townhouse.

Standing up, Harry recalled the night before; Dresden, the Evans', and the taxi ride into London. He had stumbled into the house and collapsed without even exploring. Curious as to what his new home looked like, he walked into the hallway to his left and found the stairs. The second floor could wait. He walked passed the stairwell and found a tiny bathroom below the stairs as opposed to the cupboard that was in all the houses at Privet Drive. At the end of the hallway he found a small kitchen and dining room, as well as the entrance to the minute backyard. Sadly, there was no food in the cheery yellow kitchen.

Finding nothing else, Harry returned to the entryway and climbed the stairs. He was surprised to find there were three floors instead of just two, five bedrooms and three more bathrooms – one on each floor and a privet one in what he assumed was the master suite. There were three bedrooms on the second floor, one of which was the master bedroom, and two more on the third floor. None of the rooms had any furniture. The blue carpet and pale tan walls continued throughout the house along with the sheet covered furniture.

Once Harry was satisfied that he had seen everything he cared to, he retreated to the bathroom to take a shower and change. Keeping his things with him just in case, Harry went out to explore the city, and find breakfast.

He paid little heed to the turns he was making, nor the street names as he wandered the city, figuring he would simply get a taxi to take him back to the house. The first thing he did after breakfast was phone Linda and Mark. It picked up on the fourth ring.

"Harry?"

"Err…hi, Linda," he said, surprised that she had known it would be him. But he supposed she was just waiting for him to call.

"MARK! IT'S HARRY!" she yelled away from the receiver. Still, Harry winced. Had he really worried them?

"_Edward_?"

"Mark, give me the phone! I had it first."

"I wanna talk to Ed!"

Harry blinked at the phone for a moment and waited for the yelling to die down.

"Erm…So I'm Edward, now?"

"'Course your Ed," Linda said, matter-of-factly. "Are you okay? Where are you staying?"

"I'm fine. I'm sorry if I worried you," he said, "I just really needed to leave. And I honestly, don't want to talk about it right now if you don't mind."

Linda huffed, irritably, but agreed. "So where are you?"

"My family owns a townhouse in London. It's empty right now, so I'm kind of squatting," he answered with a shrug.

"Really? Do you think Mark and I could visit?"

"Err…Well, I guess, if your mum says it's okay."

"Wicked! Mark! Harry says we can visit if Mum says its okay."

Harry heard an answering '_wicked!_' in the distance tried to laugh, but couldn't seem to manage it.

"You ask your mum later, okay? Right now, I have to go. There's no food or anything to eat off of at the house. I'll call again tonight," he promised.

"Promise Ed?"

"I promise, _Winry_."

She chuckled at the nickname. Winry was the name of Edward and Alphonse Elric's best friend.

"Okay."

"Tell Al I promise too, alright?" He meant Mark and on the other line, Linda smiled again.

"Sure. I guess I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. I'll talk to you later."

Reluctantly, Harry hung up and left the phone booth.

"Granger residence."

"Err…is Hermione there?" Harry was yet again, fidgeting in a phone booth, this time on what he assumed was the opposite end of town.

"Yes she is. May I ask who is calling?" The woman, who Harry assumed was Hermione's mother, sounded very pleased. He must have called at a good time.

"It's Harry," he said, "Harry Potter."

"Oh, _Harry_! How have you been, Harry?"

"Err…I'm fine, Mrs-Dr. Granger." Dr. Granger chuckled softly into the receiver, and handed to phone to her daughter.

"_Harry?_" Hermione said, harshly. "Where _are_ you?"

"No where, Hermione. I had to leave."

"_Why?_"

Harry responded sharply. "Because it wasn't safe there!"

"You couldn't tell Dumbledore?"

"I DID!" Hermione fell silent at his out burst, and Harry sighed. He hadn't meant to shout at her.

"Hermione, when have I ever said that I needed to leave? I know I've asked to leave, I've complained about being at the Dursley's a lot, but have I ever said I _needed_ to leave?"

"…No, you haven't," she whispered.

"Don't you trust me to know when I'm in danger?"

"Of course I do Harry, it's just…"

"Dumbledore knows best, right?" He winced at the bitterness in his voice. She didn't say anything, so he knew he had guessed right.

"Well, the Headmaster doesn't know everything, 'Mione. He's only human. Same as me."

"Harry…"

"Look, Hermione, I just wanted to call and let you know I was okay."

"Honestly, Harry, I'm surprised you still have my phone number. I must have given that to you three years ago." Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, well, I never throw anything away. It took a while to dig it out though." On the other end of the line, his bushy haired friend sighed.

"Harry, where are you? I promise I won't tell Dumbledore unless he agrees to let you go the Burrow."

"You _can't_ lie to the Headmaster, Hermione. I'm not even going to make you try. I was kind of hoping you would come spend a day with me in London sometime this summer, though."

"You're in London?"

"Wouldn't you like to know. I can get to London from anywhere. Gingotts has a debit card and I have some cash on me as well."

"Honestly, Harry…alright. At the very least I can see for myself that you're alright, and not lying to me. Would tomorrow work?"

"Tomorrow would be great." So they made plans to meet at the pizzeria across the street from the phone booth Harry was standing in at noon. An hour later, Hermione called the number that had appeared on her caller ID when Harry called. It was answered by a cocaine salesman who tried to give her a 'great deal'. She slammed the phone back onto the receiver angrily.

"MUM!"

"Yes, dear?" her mother responded from the other room. Grumbling at her absent friend, the girl made the journey to the kitchen, so that she could talk to her mother without all the shouting.

"I need a ride to London tomorrow. I'm meeting Harry for pizza."

**July 24th**

Hermione stood in front of Giovonni's Family Style Pizzeria tapping her foot impatiently. She stared out into the hustle and bustle of the city crowd, searching for a familiar mop of black hair and failing miserably. Sighing, she leaned against the old brick building. The smells of the restaurant teased her mercilessly, even out on the sidewalk. From the smell of things, Harry had chosen a good place to eat and she wished he would arrive so they could go inside. She was very hungry.

Her eyes traveled the busy motorway again, and lingered on a blonde boy leaving the phone booth across the street. He looked familiar, but she couldn't figure out where from. Perhaps she had gone to primary school with him? He might be one of her parents' patients. Wherever she knew him from, it probably wasn't important. In fact, logic told her, she probably didn't know him at all; he probably resembled someone she knew. That in mind she turned her gaze away and continued looking for Harry Potter.

Moments later he crept up behind her.

"Hi there." Huffing in annoyance she turned around.

"I've been here for ten minutes already –"

She stopped, startled. It was the blonde boy, long hair pulled into a pony tail, and wearing a bright red track jacket to fend off the unseasonably cool breeze, holding a finger to his lips in the universal gesture for _hush_.

"_What_ is going on?"

"Name's Edward," he said, smiling cheerfully. "Let go eat, I'm starved. It's so nice to finally meet you in person!"

"Oh…Well, I'm _Jane_," she answered, using her middle name. Hermione was most definitely not a common name, not one to use when 'under cover' as Harry apparently decided they were. The boy smiled and tucked one of the thick blonde locks of hair framing his face behind his ear, revealing the trademark scar on his forehead.

"And I'm starving as well, so let's go eat. I admit," she said leading the way to the door, "I was half expecting a perverted old man."

"What?"

"Nothing." It figured Harry wouldn't get the joke, but she didn't worry about explaining it. He seemed comically disturbed by the very idea.

"Err…Okay. What kind of pizza should we get? I've never had more than bits of crusts so it's up to you."

"You've _never_ had pizza?" How could a muggle-raised boy never have had pizza? It simply did not compute. Wizards were one thing; for some reason British wizards didn't seem to care for international foods, let alone modern versions of it. If a wizard were to make a pizza (or have one made for them) it would be a traditional Italian pizza.

Harry shook his head, apparently not seeing the significance of having missed out on the dish.

"Well, then, we'll get one with everything on it. Except sardines and artichokes, because I don't like those."

"That sounds good. What does everything include?"

* * *

A/N: Six pages, not bad. Much better than the last few chapters, I think. Harry's never had pizza, so sad……REVIEW! 


	14. Part I: Ch14

A/N: It's been a while! Anyway, I own nothing, and I have nothing. Nothing but my crappy computer, so suing would be pointless. I did a small of revising this one chapter (because I really do dislike this chapter) so this is Draft #2, just so you know…In any case…

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Chapter 14

* * *

"I just don't understand, Edward. I promise you I will not tell anyone where you're staying."

"It doesn't matter," he said, as their server walked away and he picked up his first slice of pizza, "The headmaster would get it out of you."

"You don't know that. I _can _lie you know." She picked a slice to herself and began patting it dry with a napkin. Harry shook his head, and she rolled her eyes.

"He's a mind reader, Jane. Literally. The Greasy Git too." He watched her curiously as she ritualistically patted down her food.

"It's to get the extra grease off," she said, catching his expression. "And you're being a little melodramatic aren't you?"

Harry – _Edward_ grumbled and glanced casually around the restaurant. Dropping his voice to a whisper he leaned across the table.

"It's called legitimancy, Jane. All they need is eye contact."

Legitimancy? That didn't sound like something Harry would just make up. Apparently a trip to the bookstore was in order after this.

"Explain."

"That's what those lessons with Snape were all about," he said, grabbing another slice. "They wanted to keep You-Know-Who out of my head, but like I said, Snape wasn't teaching me anything."

"So you're afraid that one of them is going to read my mind, find out where you are, and drag you back to your relatives' house?"

Apparently not amused by her sarcasm (which was just as well as she wasn't trying to be funny), Harry glared balefully from across the table.

"Exactly," he said.

Rolling her eyes, she responded, "_Honestly_, Ed. What if they let you go to Ron's? Or…or your godfather's?"

"They won't." He said tersely.

"How do you know?"

"_I already asked!_ Honestly, _Jane_. Do you have no faith in me? I told him I needed to leave twice, and he said no. Wait it out at home, he said. Well that is _not_ home for me! Not with those people." The harshness in his tone caught her off guard, and not for the first time in the past five years did she wonder what really went on at the Dursley household. Why did Harry hate it there so much? Certainly, there was more going on here than teen angst, which was what she had always attributed his opinions to in the past.

"What do they do to you there?"

She was lucky, she realized that night, as she sat at her desk tapping her quill to a piece of parchment, trying to put the day's happenings into words for Ron to read. Had Harry not been so frazzled by her previous questions she would have gotten one of his patented evasive answers. As it was, he was so upset by the idea of having to go back, or perhaps having been forced to find his own way out, that he lowered his voice to an angry whisper with out a thought and gave her as straight an answer as she had ever gotten about the Dursleys.

"I expect miserable summers. I expect to be beaten, belittled, and berated, but even _I_ never expected that that _bastard _could stoop so low as to sell his own nephew."

Immediately, he flushed and looked away, realizing that he had not meant to tell her so much, but the damage was done.

Beaten. Belittled. And berated.

Beaten: to strike violently or forcefully and repeatedly.

Belittled: to regard or portray as less impressive or important than appearances indicate.

Berated: to scold; rebuke.

"_I expect miserable summers."_

"_I expect to be beaten, belittled, and berated…"_

A part of her wondered at his talent for alliteration in a subconscious attempt to ignore the rest of what he said, but it did little good. Harry Potter, her _best friend_, lived in an abusive home. She stared at him for a long while, unable to wrap her mind around the concept of Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Lived, her _friend_ being beaten as a child. This just wasn't something that _happened_ to her and her friends. How was this possible?

Mentally shaking herself, her rational side scoffed at the thought. It was stupid to think such things. It was entirely possible that something like this would happen to _her_ and _her friends_. It was just as likely to happen to them as it was to anybody else! It _was _happening.

"What do you mean by sold?" she asked in a quivering voice. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, and forced them back. Crying wasn't going to get him to answer any of her questions.

"Nothing. Just forget it."

"_No!"_ Furious, she hissed at him. He damn well was not going to try and 'protect' her from this. She was not going to let him play the bloody martyr. "I will not forget it, _Edward_. What did you mean?"

His yellow stare was penetrating. If his eyes had been green at the time she would have had to look away because of the intensity, but the contacts he wore seemed to subdue the effect. He didn't answer, but the silence said enough.

Across the table, Harry watched as the blood drained from Hermione's face, and her eyes widened in shock. Just how, precisely, was he supposed to answer that?

* * *

**July 25th**

By all accounts, Albus Dumbledore was a very patient man. He firmly believed the old adage 'good things come to those who wait' as much as he did 'great things come in small packages' and often felt it necessary to remind others of such truths. His prowess in chess has also been remarked upon in a very similar manner. It was common for him to wait for ten minutes before making a move.

Chess however, has less to do with patience than it does with strategy. And Albus Dumbledore has less patience than he does an almost creepy knowledge of what others will do next.

Really, the Headmaster of Hogwarts is little more than a very intelligent, very powerful liar. His ability to remain patient hinges on the fact that he almost always knows what will happen next, therefore he focuses himself on planning his own responses.

Having lived as long as he has, he knows the virtue of patience of course, but still has trouble keeping himself in check when he does not know what is going on. Were he to ever loose himself in a mystery novel and read for 48 hours without pause, it would not be because of the riveting action, but an incessant need to know who the killer is _now_ – assuming he hadn't already figured it out for himself and tossed the book aside. Coupled with his hard-earned knowledge of human nature, that knack for strategy kept him alive through two wars and touching the lives of a vast array of teenagers, which can be a war unto itself. With help from a castle-full of chatty portraits, Albus was able to keep tabs on most of his charges and prevent any harmful activities. He always knew what was going on.

The only exception seemed to be Harry Potter.

The portraits did keep a special eye on the boy, but with his invisibility cloak it was difficult. Undoubtedly, he ran about after curfew more often than even Albus knew. After all he _was_ James Potter's boy. His reckless streak was a mile wide. That was a well known fact, but he had always tried to keep within the realms of any requests Albus made of him, which was a godsend. Were the boy any more disobedient to his headmaster, the man was sure he would be unable to keep up.

Considering Harry's constant attempts to get away from his relatives, the Order had thought he might bombard them with more letters, and probably rope in his friends as back up as well. There was a chance he would try to push past the boundaries of Little Whining in his runs and try to stay out later than was strictly necessary (something that had proven true already). Everybody knew this, they had been warned and procedures had been developed, all of them involving verbal reminders that the rules were there for his own safety and that of others. The thought of others coming to harm because of his own actions was usually enough to rein the boy in. It would be an especially useful tactic now.

No one had expected him to run away.

Mundungus Fletcher had been placed on Evening - Night Guard purely to avoid the chances of his loosing the boy. Lot of good that had done. Were the man an employee and not a volunteer he would be fired. Getting drunk on the job! His shift lasted from seven until eleven. Somehow, Harry had managed to take his things and go within the twenty minute window between the man's last check in, and his replacement by Ms. Emmaline Vance. Not long after her arrival, Emmaline saw the Dursleys return home from dinner, and the family retired.

Angrily rubbing his temples in an attempt to dispel his terrible headache, the old Headmaster sighed, recalling the fiasco that the day had been.

It was the furious shouts during breakfast that alerted everyone to the problem. Worried, Tonks called Alastor Moody to take a quick look inside the house. Harry Potter was no where to be found. The duo conducted a quick search of the area that turned up nothing before calling Albus.

A second, more thorough search of Little Whining had followed immediately, but all was in vain. He simply was not in the town.

They checked the rosters at both the Leaky Cauldron and the Knight Bus, but Harry's name wasn't listed. Tom even insisted that he hadn't seen Harry in nigh on three years. That was both a comfort and a curse. Simple as Harry's disguise had been, earlier in the month, if Tom hadn't recognized him there was little chance anyone else had. It was unlikely a Death Eater had spotted him in Diagon Alley with the Evans' and followed them back home.

That meant that Harry had most likely not been kidnapped, but _that_ meant that he had most likely ran away.

Not that that was unexpected in _retrospect_. No, not at all. Harry had _wanted_ to leave, so leave had. Albus was beginning to see what it was about Harry Potter that irked Severus so badly.

Visits to Ron and Hermione today had done little good. The only Weasley to have talked to Harry at all during the summer was Bill, and all Hermione could tell them was that Harry had seemed fairly desperate to leave his relatives, and (she added, hesitantly) that Albus _should_ have let him go to the Burrow.

It was Miss Granger's reaction that had Albus wondering if Harry _had_ called upon his friends for help. That was to be expected, and even understood, for they were teenagers (and there is nobody so important to a teenager than their friends), but her actions were what he would have expected from Ron Weasley. She insisted that Harry hadn't given her a reason for needing to leave the Dursley household, but supported his decision in a roundabout way. From what the Headmaster knew, Hermione Granger never believed _anything_ without solid proof.

Not only was the girl acting odd, but it had been uncommonly difficult to contact her all day. Usually she let her friends know if she was going anywhere for the summer, and if she wasn't then she spent her days at home as far as Ronald, or the Headmaster knew. The young red head insisted that she never talked about her primary school friends, except in the context of 'in primary school.' Today though, when Albus had rung up her house to request a visit, her mother had informed him that she was out in London with a friend of hers from primary school.

Also, during their meeting she refused to make eye contact with him. She kept her head down, thoughtfully stirring a bowl of cookie batter.

"He said he _needed_ to leave, Professor. He's never said that before. I think we should have listened to him."

Clearly, she knew more than she was telling, but Albus was loath to force it out of her. Her trust in authority was useful to him. He was certain that her badgering was one of the only reasons Harry ever went to adults for help.

For what must have been the 50th time that day, Dumbledore pulled out his wand.

"Point Me, Harry Potter," he commanded. The wand spun wildly in the palm of his hand indicating confusion. Before this summer he had thought it an unnecessary invasion of privacy to place tracking spells on his student, but now wished he had. Without one all a person needed to do was subconsciously wish not to be found and all one sided tracking spells would be beaten, even those used by messenger owls. No spell or effort at all was required.

Wendy Evans had provided one clue on the first day of their search, but that also, was little help. Harry had gone to her, looking quite unwell, and asked her to call a cab. She had, and the cab had taken Harry away, to an unknown destination. He was to ring her up at some point that evening, but the woman had refused to let them take the call. _She_ seemed to think that Harry would be perfectly fine on his own, and refused to listen when the Order tried to explain the danger the boy was in.

Her son, Mark, had bounded down the stairs during their explanation, brandishing his wand and wearing reflective sunglasses despite the fading light.

"You are _not_ locking Harry up anymore. Now get _out_ of my house!"

He startled everyone, but Dumbledore and Snape had been most flummoxed when they found they could not enter the boy's mind. A first year should not be able to protect his mind in any fashion, his magic should still have been too wild. Immediately after, their moment of stunned surprise was interrupted by a muggle girl of things.

If a first year should not be able to use occlumency then a muggle girl definitely should not be able to take five full grown witches and wizards out with the use of potion filled balloons.

She burst out of a closet – _a closet_ -- and hit each of them with a balloon filled with a very mild, easily made acid. Luckily none had gotten into anyone's eye, as that could have blinded them irreversibly, but they had left sporting second degree burns and ruined clothing. Suddenly, Albus wished he hadn't decided against bringing Alastor. Saving the family the discomfort of his appearance and the man's own annoyance at their probable reactions wasn't worth the pain and _humiliation_ it had put him through. The old Auror would have seen her through the closet door and saved them all.

Severus had nearly blown the girl to pieces. Only Tonks' quick thinking saved her a very painful injury. Paying her blisters no heed, the young woman jumped onto the potions professor, knocking him to the ground, and snatched his wand from his hand.

Furious, the Headmaster had begun to lecture the girl. She said nothing, but pulled another balloon out of the bag at her waist. Although she was also wearing mirrored sunglasses, Dumbledore was certain she was glaring at him with fury and malice.

Wisely, the Order retreated, wonder just what exactly had happened back in the seemingly normal house. The Evans' were a family not to be trifled with.

"Keep your distance from them," Albus ordered as they were being treated in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. "We will have to find Harry on our own."

* * *

A/N: So I guess this is a decent length (about as long as any of my other chapters anyway) so at least the wait was kind of worth it…Honestly, I think this chapter is horrible. The only bits I like at Mark and Linda's attack. But we did need to see what was going on with Dumbledore, I guess.

What do you guys out there in Internet Land think? If it's not too much trouble I would appreciate your opinions, again. And I mean stuff along the lines of 'this is what I like, this is what I don't like, and here's why.' I know, I know. It's like I'm asking for a frickin' essay here isn't it? But I would appreciate it!


	15. Part I: Ch15

A/N: Hurray for chapter 15!

**Chapter 15**

* * *

**July 25th**

**The Burrow**

Pig darted wildly around the room, undisturbed by the glaringly bright orange walls. It had been a week since he'd been out, and he was quite excited. Ron, for his part, was furiously scribbling across a piece of parchment, expunging his rage at so-called his best friend.

Where the _hell_ did Harry get off running away without telling him?

The anger filled the air, making it thick and uncomfortable. Neither Ron, nor Pig seemed to notice, but the rest of the houses' occupants were avoiding the door as though daring to knock would call upon the Dark Lord himself, or the devil if there were any difference.

He had been a good friend this summer hadn't he? A year ago he had been awash with guilt for withholding information from his best friend, despite his anger at the other boy's snappish attitude. This year, he had no information to withhold, but knew he _could_ have been an insensitive git, even without knowing it. Really, he had shown an amazing amount of insight and sensitivity when he sent out his first and only letter to Harry earlier that summer. It was downright uncharacteristic and he knew it, but he was willing to swallow his boredom and impatience to give his friend a bit of a break. He had even warned Hermione off of sending too many letters.

After all that, Harry couldn't bother to consult him before taking off to who-knew-where!

_Well, that'll teach me to try being considerate again, won't it?_ He thought, bitterly.

He was writing a letter to Hermione, now, having already written to Harry. His fury had lost it's edge, but the words he wrote were still slanted and sloppy with the speed he was writing at.

_Do you have any idea what that bloody git was thinking, Mione? _He wrote. _If he wanted out, he should have had the decency to write! I'd have talked to Mum for him, but he's gone and taken off on his own like an idiot. I don't know what's wrong with him. I mean I know he's hurt and upset about_…Here, he wrote Sirius, but quickly thought better of it and scribbled it out angrily…_Snuffles, but where does he get off running off like that?_ He wrote more, but mostly ended up repeating himself and calling Harry all manner of unsavory names that he knew Hermione wouldn't appreciate. He didn't want her to stop talking to him, but he needed to vent, and he had already been banished to his room for being to loud in his fury downstairs. Everybody else was tired of listening to him. At the very least the bushy haired girl couldn't yell at him through post…yet.

_And where the hell were you yesterday? Dad said Dumbledore couldn't get a hold of you all day. Have you heard from the git yet? If you find out where he is you had better tell me so that I can go curse him into the next generation! _

Furiously, he tapped his quill in thought, leaving a large black smudge next to his last line. Not knowing what else to say he signed his name and blew on the page to dry the ink before folding it up and tying it to his little owls leg along his letter to Harry.

"They're for Harry and Hermione," he said. "You got that, Pig? Don't get sidetracked."

Hooting in affirmation, the diminutive bird made a bee-line for the open window, set in his task.

Ron shook his head, watching Pig weave about drunkenly, and smiled. He didn't know how it was for Harry (though it was undoubtedly worse) but the fact of Sirius' death tended to pop up at unpleasant moments, causing a dull ache in his chest. It was moments like that that the red head was truly grateful for Pig's presence.

**July 26th**

The next day Pig returned with two letters. One of them was addressed to Harry Potter in Ron's own handwriting.

"DAMNIT HARRY!" Ron tore the letter to bits, without a thought. "WHAT THE HELL IS WONG WITH YOU? WHEN WE GET TO HOGWARTS I'M GOING TO CURSE HIM SO BAD HE'LL BE AFRAID TO SLEEP!!!!"

"Ronald Billius Weasley, you _will not_ yell at my table," his mother scolded harshly in a low voice. Ron paled and shrank in seat. Molly rarely used that tone, but when she did the only safe response was to comply. Quietly as possible, he opened Hermione's letter and took a bite of toast to ease his mother's gaze. Seemingly assuaged by the sight of her son eating his breakfast, she turned back to the eggs in the pan in front of her.

"What's Hermione got to say?" asked Ginny, casually.

"O-only that she doesn't know what's gotten into Harry…and that I'm a great prat, apparently," he said hesitantly, giving the ceiling a meaningful glance while Molly wasn't looking.

Ginny seemed to get the message and quickly polished off her plate before taking it to the sink.

"Thanks for breakfast, Mum," she said giving the older woman a small hug. Molly smiled and returned the hug with one arm. She had been up all night worrying over Harry.

Ron shoveled a second helping of everything into his mouth before following his sister's example and scurrying off to his room to share Hermione's letter.

_Ron, _it began.

_First of all you are a great prat, writing me a letter like that. However, I will forgive you, since you don't know what's going on. First, I want you to know that Harry only wrote to me twice before he ran away, and that I fully support his decision, although it would have been far better if he had been allowed to go to your house. _

_Unfortunately before I go any further I need to give you a short lesson in legitimancy. Legitimancy is a mind magic, essentially the opposite of Occlumancy (which Harry was learning last year, remember?). Simply put, Legitimancy is mind-reading. And I do mean VERY simply put. I found two books on it in Florish and Blotts, but I won't go into those. Both Snape and Dumbledore know the art, so whatever you do DO NOT LOOK EITHER OF THEM IN THE EYES. If you do they'll be able to rummage through your head without you being any the wiser, and they'll pull all the information on Harry they need. _

_I forgot to say it earlier, but of course you can not tell anyone what I am about to tell you. Except perhaps Ginny. But nobody else._

_I saw Harry yesterday. _

"WHAT?" Ginny shouted.

"_I know!_" hissed Ron. "Harry is getting it the second the Express leaves Kingscross." His sister nodded in furious agreement.Ron continued reading in a low voice, now paying close attention, as he had only gotten that far at the table.

_The day before, he called me to let me know that he was okay, and to invite me to lunch. Well, we went and had pizza while I interrogated him, which is how I learned about Legitimancy. _

_For the record I DO NOT know where he is staying. The prat refused to tell me and mentioned that he was getting familiar with the underground and cab drivers often, so he probably isn't even staying in London. He did tell me why he left the Dursleys. _

_I'm sorry Ron, but I can't tell you. Harry made me promise not to, as it is a very, very personal matter. Don't be very angry at him though, _she pleaded. Ron, however, was fuming enough that Ginny had to take over reading. _He has a VERY good reason. I hope you'll be able to understand. I only found out on accident. You know how good Harry is at choosing his words, but I got him to forget himself for just a few seconds and he let something spill. After that, I guess he figured it was pretty useless to keep hiding it. Honestly, I don't think he told me everything though, and he was very vague. _

_Dumbledore came to visit me last night as well, and I warn you, avoiding eye contact is difficult. I told him that I don't know where Harry went (which is true) and that I didn't know why he left, but that I am sure he had a good reason, and that he should have been allowed to go to the Burrow. _

_I'm sorry Harry hasn't written to you yet Ron, but you really do need to reign in that temper of yours. I hope you didn't write anything too thoughtless in that letter of yours. Pig still has it, by the way. I guess he hasn't gone to find Harry yet. _

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

"I'm killing Harry," Ginny said matter-of-factly.

"Get in line," was all Ron had to say.

* * *

For his part, Harry was perfectly oblivious to the chaos he was causing the Order of the Phoenix. He wandered the area surrounding his new home absently, taking note of restaurants and shops of interest and trying to whittle away at the one empty day he had before Mark and Linda arrived. He strolled down the sidewalk casually, glancing across the street. There was record store he thought he might take a look at.

While, like his father, Dudley had never been one for music, making it a rarity in the Dursley household, Aunt Petunia had always loved musical theatre. Whenever her son and husband were away she would put on records of her favorite musicals and trill along with speakers. As Petunia preferred to more or less ignore her nephew, Harry knew that when there was music playing he was safe and came to enjoy those moments despite the chores he was usually doing when they occurred. He came to know and like the music quite well, and would often sing along if his aunt happened to be out of hearing range. The stern woman could never tolerate his voice.

Harry smiled bemusedly, wondering what Ron would say if he ever found out of his friend's extensive knowledge of show tunes. The look on his face might just be worth the teasing he would get for it once the twins and Bill found out. Might…

He would truly love to have a few of those records for himself. Why hadn't he thought of it when he was in the electronics shop in Surrey? He hadn't spent much time in their music department. Oh well.

Harry stopped at the corner, and waited to cross the street with the rest of the crowd. Turning his gaze, once again, to the opposite side of the road Harry noticed a group of boys leaving the building next to his goal. He blinked. They were all dressed in what looked to be white pajamas. He blinked again. Two women, who Harry was sure must have been their mothers, followed them out the door and ushered them down the sidewalk and into two different cars. Harry crossed the street and looked into the front window of the building the group had left, music shop forgotten.

The gold lettering on the window said **Yamanako's** and nothing more. Beyond the glass was one large room with blue flooring. The wall to his right was decorated with weapons of all sorts, and in one corner there was a punching bag, next to a pole near the back wall was what looked like a life-sized human dummy, and another corner was filled with odds and ends that Harry couldn't identify.

Curious he went inside.

A bell tied to the door handle jingled as it shut behind him. The children still inside paid him no mind, and the mothers on the couch to his left only glanced in his direction before returning to their magazines. Harry watched as two little girls chased each other around the room, playing with a gigantic orange ball, and another boy continued to break out of his friends grasp over and over again. Towards the back was another boy, taller than all the rest, but still not possibly older than twelve, who looked to be practicing a series of kicks, punches, and blocks. He stopped a few times and had to start over, having apparently done something wrong.

"Can I help you?"

Startled, Harry turned his attention away from the boy and onto the man who had approached him at some point.

"Err…I was just wondering…um…what is this place?" The man had a piercing stare, and Harry felt quite pathetic as he slouched there in the doorway. Suddenly aware of his bad posture he straightened up and attempted to look sure of himself.

It didn't seem to fool the man.

"This is my dojo," he said plainly. "I teach martial arts. Did you want to enroll?"

"Martial arts? You mean fighting?" Obviously this was the wrong thing to say, as the man's face darkened slightly, as though he were trying diligently to not be offended.

"More than fighting," he stressed.

"Err…right," Harry stammered. "How much do you charge?"

The next three hours Harry spent being tested in the Yamanako-sensei's dojo. The second he said that he had been taught for a while by a friend of his, the aging teacher had insisted he show him what he knew. By the end, the now yellow haired teen was sore and slick with sweat, and wanted nothing more than a good hot shower.

"Why did your friend decide to teach you?" Yamanako asked, as he and his new student ran through the warm down stretches. If what the boy calling himself Edward said was true then he had only been learning for around a week, and had picked the basics up with nearly supernatural skill. People, yet alone teenagers, did not progress like that for mere hobbies.

Harry, knowing full well that 'because it sounded like fun' would not be a satisfactory answer, praised whatever gods there might have been that he had a paper cup to his lips and couldn't speak. It wouldn't have sounded nearly as convincing if he had had to pause before answering.

"I get beat up a lot at school," he settled on once he swallowed. "And my idiot cousin and his gang doesn't help at all during the summer, so I tried to learn it all really fast."

Yamanako didn't believe him for a second, but decided to leave it alone for a while. He decided after a second's thought that the answer was probably close to the truth. Once the boy trusted him he would probably tell more.

* * *

A/N: Yay! Harry gets to continue his karate! REVIEW! 


	16. Part I: Ch16

A/N: Yes, this one is short, but I want to start off the school year with it's own chapter. That'll be Part II. I might even label it that way.

Chapter 16

* * *

**July 27th**

Harry met the Evans' early that morning, and was immediately consumed by guilt when Wendy proclaimed just how worried she'd been. Sadly, he couldn't say he'd been shocked to hear that Dumbledore had been by, and apologized profusely for the trouble.

"It's no trouble, Ed," she said softly. He still felt bad. "Already, I feel like your one of my own. You lot just have fun, alright? Keep out of trouble, but have fun."

Harry nodded sheepishly and promised not to let anything happen to Mark and Linda.

"Off with you!" she exclaimed, turning back to her car. "Mark, Linda, I want you two on your best behavior!"

The two groaned, but nodded as their mother drove away. All three of them waved cheerfully until she was out of sight.

"So what do you guys want to do?"

Mark shrugged, while Linda brushed a piece of bleach blonde hair out of her face. Tucking it securely behind her ear she asked, "What have you been doing?"

Harry shrugged as well. "Just wandering around the city. There's a pizza restaurant a few blocks away, and an arcade. I haven't been there yet."

Mark exclaimed, with much enthusiasm, that that's where they would go then. And so they did. When they realized that Harry had never been to an arcade before pandemonium ensued. The siblings took great delight in both teaching him to play, and taking advantage of his ignorance. Mark whipped him good in each of the fighting games, at least once, and sometimes twice while his sister did her damnedest to get him to try Dance Dance Revolution before laughing hysterically at his attempt.

"You're not much better than I am!" Harry shouted, seeing her try it clumsily, while still nearly doubled over with laughter.

The first person shooter games were pretty much self explanatory and Harry excelled at them, at least relatively. He did much better than either of the other two, who had horrible aim.

They wasted the morning in the near dark arcade, before moving on to lunch at the Giovanni's. While they ate the Evans' regaled Harry with the story of Dumbledore's visit.

"They all _totally_ jumped, Ed. It was wicked! And we wore mirrored sunglasses so they couldn't read our minds."

Harry snorted.

"Mirrored sunglasses?"

"Yeah! Genius right?"

"We got the idea from a book. Faeries can't hypnotize you if you're wearing mirrored sunglasses, so we figured it was worth a try," Linda explained, chuckling.

"Yeah! And then, when they were all distracted, Linda jumped out of the closet and threw the balloons at them. The boils looked wicked! They turned tail and _ran_."

The girl nodded along with a small cringe. "I hope we didn't really hurt anyone."

"I'm sure they got Madame Pomfrey to fix them up."

"They haven't been back yet!"

Afterwards, Harry found himself inexplicably drawn into Diagon Alley.

It was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea.

For some reason he could not say no to the Evans siblings and that was sure to be the death of them all.

They wanted to do more wandering than they had when they went for school supplies, and reluctantly he allowed it. Harry couldn't help being twitchy for the entire three hours they were there. He was certain someone would recognize him, whether it be a Death Eater, a fan, or a member of the Order who _knew_ that Harry was blonde this summer.

"Hey, Edward! Let's look in here." Mark grabbed his hand excitedly, and pulled his friend into the leather worker's shop.

Dragonhide vests, pants, boots, and jackets were displayed everywhere.

"Wow!" The sandy haired boy seemed to be trying to look in every direction at once, as he had in every other shop they saw.

Harry spotted a large poster on the back wall and paused to read. It was a list of properties for every type of leather the shop worked with. Most of the Dragonhides were mildly spell resistant and absorbed anything from soft to mild blows, dulling the effects of serious physical injuries. The other leathers ranged from being light weight but durable, to extremely breathable, or merely exceptionally soft. All of them were fairly expensive.

He eyed the vests on display thoughtfully. Five of those vests most likely could have turned Hermione's broken ribs last year into no more than a very large and uncomfortable bruise. Thinking of Ginny's ankle, Harry went to read the signs listing the advantages of each boot type. Most of them had ankle support. Out of the corner of his eye he saw forearm braces, and thought of Ron. Doing some quick math in his head, the dark haired boy guessed the average price for all the objects he had in mind and multiplied that by five or six. That was a lot of money.

A whole lot of money.

Getting _any of them_ to agree to a present that expensive would be hell.

But he did have the money. It would barely make a dent in what his statement said he had.

And if it saved their lives it would be worth it.

Nodding to himself, Harry vowed to come back near the end of the summer with everyone who had gone to the Department of Mysteries.

At the end of the day, Harry walked out of the Alley sporting two forearm braces that doubled as specialized wand holsters. When the wand was properly secured it was immediately disillusioned, meaning he could easily appear to be unarmed.

Linda had talked him into buying two of them, saying that wearing only one brace would look weird.

"And anyway," she whispered with a mischievous grin, "if anyone figures out that it's a holster and takes your wand they'll think you have another one, so you can get away with you wandless stuff."

He admitted that was a good idea.

He would be completely underestimated.

All three of them had another new stack of books each. Marks were all on potions, as he insisted that there must be _something_ that his first year text had left out.

"Sometimes it just doesn't make _sense!_" Harry only shook his head, saying that potions _never_ made sense.

Linda's were a mixture of runes and divination. Again, Harry shook his head, completely unable to understand why divination would interest her. The girl only smiled and shrugged, tucking a piece of her not-quite-shoulder-length hair behind her ear.

Harry's were all on defense, excepting on household charms. Seeing the armor in the leather shop, and knowing how it could help sparked a stray thought of the DA. Hopefully the defense teacher would be a decent one this year, but if not it was best to be prepared. He would make up a tentative 'lesson plan' just in case.

The rest of the summer passed in a blaze of activity.

Mark and Linda visited almost every weekend and very often on the week days, and the weekend after his birthday Wendy even accompanied them to an amusement park. Both Harry and Mark were proud to say that they rode the largest rollercoaster in the place four times each before throwing up. All of the Evans' had been astounded to find that Harry had never once eaten a corn dog, not mention cotton candy. The four of them gorged themselves contentedly.

Much of the time they spent wandering around and buying Harry things for his house. As the townhouse began to feel more and more like home, he found himself decorating it. Mark and Linda both ended up claiming their own rooms despite the fact that the three of them usually camped out in the living room and Harry bought them both linen sets and curtains of their own.

They also made trips to the zoo, two museum, and the docks. Hermione, joyfully accompanied them to one of the museums, and passed on his presents. Everyone, it seemed, was having trouble getting owls to him. Through her, he passed on a few letters to Ron and the other Weasleys, all basically asking forgiveness for not writing earlier, and giving a very bare-bones version of why he left. He also set up their meeting at the Leather Worker's.

He had to promise all of them no Christmas or birthday presents for the next three years, but he got each of them a vest, arm braces, and pair of boots.

When he walked in the door, his hair was once again black, which he was thankful for, and he was wearing his contacts. When he walked out the door the tissue around his eyes was beginning to swell and his shin already had a bruise. Needless to say none of the Weasleys were happy with him. And he graciously allowed the onslaught of violence believing it well deserved.

He was also, finally, able to visit the Twins' shop. It was amazing. Fred and George all too willingly took Mark on a guided tour. The small boy was delighted. Harry wasn't sure what he thought about it. He had an unsettling feeling that the two were grooming their replacement.

It was upon leaving the shop that he spotted Draco Malfoy. He followed immediately, appointing Ron and Hermione to watch Mark and Linda. He ended up in Borgin and Burke's and watched covertly as the blonde boy threatened the shop keeper.

* * *

A/N: Alright, so I don't feel like elaborating on the Malfoy thing. I'm going to hope that everybody knows what happens in the sixth book with him with the cupboard and what not, and that's it. 


	17. Author's Note

**First I must apologize**. This is not an update, but I feel I owe all you wonderful people who have been kept coming back an explanation for the lack of updating. Now of course it is mostly my fault. Nobody has been forcing me not to update, I am not being blackmailed or any such thing. **However**, you are free to blame the Modern Prometheus. For those of you reading Purpose, he did not start the problem, I did that (by that I mean going online to read all of the Naruto translations I could find) on my own, but he made the problem worse. Indeed he did. And he did this by sending me a link to** 53** volumes of the Detective Conan series, and got me thoroughly hooked. So it's his fault that I'm too distracted by comics to write. Go yell at him a review. Seriously, do it. It would amuse him so. It would amuse me as well…

Anyway, I am sorry for the lack of updating. To keep you informed, I have about 1/3 of my SD chapter done, I'm revising purpose from the start, so we can say that's on a bit of a hiatus (tear, I know, I'm sorry), maybe half of the next NG chapter, and as for Guilty…well, the next chapter is done if I don't go through and revise it first, but I did say I wanted to be a few chapters ahead…so it might still be a while. Let's just say that Rebuilding in on hiatus as well. My muse is jumping around right now and it probably just needs some time to settle down, not to mention school is smacking me upside the head. I hate algebra, I really do.

Again, I'm sorry. I'll update sometime soon. None of these stories have been abandoned by any means, I promise.

Rix


	18. Part II: Ch1

**A/N: FINALLY!!**

Chapter 17

* * *

**September 1st**

"You two had better write to us! Daily!" Harry and Mark both smiled with their heads stuck out the compartment window.

"You bet we will, Winry," Mark said cheerfully. "I'll annoy Ed some much he'll write just to shut me up!"

Wendy and the two boys laughed while Linda sighed. "I really am Winry now, aren't I? You're both leaving me behind."

"Come on Linda," Harry reasoned. "We'll be visiting a hell of a lot more than Ed and Al ever did, you can be sure of that. No alternate universes for us."

"Yeah!"

"They're right, Linda. We'll manage to survive without them until Christmas," Wendy reassured her.

"That's right! You _are_ coming to our house for Christmas, right Harry? At least Christmas day."

Harry sighed weakly, and smiled. "I'll do my best," he promised just before the train started to move.

"No! Already?" Linda cried. Wendy sighed sadly at the sound of the whistle. Time for her boys to go already. She wasn't sure if she was proud or angry that they were leaving. They were off to what was possibly the most prestigious school in Britain, but still they were leaving. In any case, she couldn't seem to stop smiling and tears were blurring her vision horribly. As the Evans women watched the scarlet steam engine make its way out of the station, inching at first, but quickly picking up speed, they were not the only teary eyed people on the platform; however, they noticed no one else. And up until the train was out of sight they told themselves they could still see Mark and Harry waving from their window.

* * *

"So you spent this summer learning to fight then, Harry?" Neville sat across from Harry and Mark with Ginny, dealing hands for Exploding Snap. The two of them had been subtly drilling their friend about his summer, having apparently deemed all the answers he had given in Diagon Alley insufficient.

"Er…yeah. I felt kind of bad about it though, whenever I came in Yamanako-sensei handed the class over to one of the advanced students to work with me. He says I've gotten decent though."

"Think you could teach us?" Ginny asked, scowling at her cards. "Ron's been refusing to teach me anything Shacklebolt showed him."

"I guess so. I was kind of thinking of going through some of the basics in the DA if we have it again this year."

"Really?" Neville looked up excitedly. "I think restarting is a wonderful idea!"

"Is that that club you did last year?" Mark asked. "Can I join?"

For a moment Harry looked nervous, unsure of whether he really wanted to teach his young friend to fight. He told Wendy on more than one occasion that he would look out for her son, and he didn't think he could take it if he were hurt. On the one hand teaching Mark how to defend himself could do just that. On the other, it might just encourage him to jump into battle, thinking that he was a match for a fully-qualified wizard even at the age of eleven. The boy could go either way, realistically. Was Harry confident enough in him to let him join what was essentially going to be a battle training class?

Eventually he settled on "We'll see" as an answer. Mark was less than pleased, but only pouted and glared at his cards. The other two in the car tried to smile reassuringly at their friend. It didn't help. They didn't understand.

The games of Snap continued on in relative silence broken, only by the occasional explosion and giggle or gasp, until Ron and Hermione entered the compartment.

"Harry where the hell have you been?" Ron asked sitting down next to his friend.

"Ronald!" Hermione scolded.

"What? I have to ask at least once."

The bushy haired girl rolled her eyes and sighed as she took a seat next to Ginny and Neville.

"We agreed not to ask," she said. Ron only shrugged.

"I've been living in London if you must know," Harry said, surprising everyone. Dumbledore was bound to get it out of him by the end of the year anyway, and he really didn't intend on spending all of next summer nervously trying to dodge both Death Eaters and the Order once again. It had made him supremely edgy this past month, and didn't help at all with his nightmares.

"London, Harry? Really! What on Earth were you thinking being so close to Diagon Alley?" Hermione screeched. Neville and Ginny inched towards the window nervously.

"I was thinking 'London is a very large place with a lot of people,' and 'what self-respecting Death Eater is going to go traipsing about muggle London?' and then 'the Potters own a townhouse in London. Really?' and 'nobody's living there' and 'it's probably warded in some way shape or form. Sounds like a good place to stay.'"

"He's got you there, 'Mione," Ginny smirked, while Ron, Neville and Mark chocked on their laughter.

"So you've been lying to me all summer?" the other girl spat.

"Hey! I never told you I wasn't in London. If you came to that conclusion you did it on your own."

Hermione 'hmph'ed and averted her eyes to glare at the door. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Alright! So I mislead you a bit. You know why I was doing that anyway, I don't know why you're so upset about it." She knew damn well why he would have misled her about his whereabouts! They had had quite a few discussions about it over the past month, in fact, and he had been under the impression that she understood what he was doing.

Reluctantly, she sighed and glanced at her raven haired friend, ignoring Ginny's exploding cards. "You're right. I do understand. But it doesn't mean I think it was necessary to _say_ misleading things to me."

Harry nodded absently and grinned apologetically at Neville who had the least amount of information on Harry's summer of the lot of them and who was reshuffling the deck. Ginny was confused, but not nearly so much as the boy next to her.

"So, Ron," Harry drawled with a wider, more mischievous grin at his other friend who was slouching in his seat and sneaking glances at Hermione, "I heard you were getting lessons from Shacklebolt this summer as well."

Suddenly a fair bit more interested in the conversation, Ron sat up and smiled roguishly at the boy smaller boy. "That's right," he said. "And didn't you run off pretty soon after you got started? I guess I'll have to bring you up to speed."

Hermione immediately began to choke and cough thanks to a bit of dust in the air, while Mark chuckled outright, and Neville and Ginny averted their eyes trying desperately not to smile or laugh. Ron didn't seem to notice. Harry smiled gratefully at his freckled friend.

"Really? That'd be great Ron! I bet I've fallen really far behind in the last month." He didn't say it nearly as convincingly as he could have, mostly because he was trying too hard not to laugh, but Ron seemed to buy it.

The other boy was almost half a foot taller than Harry and was a fair bit stronger as well, but Ron Weasley had never been known for his speed or stamina. And Harry must have spent nearly fifteen hours a week with Yamanako-sensei, working non-stop. Occasionally, he was allowed to spar with some of the man's older, more experienced pupils – sometimes more than one at a time. He didn't always win, but he never lost horribly, and he tended to run circles around larger opponents. Harry was going to wipe the floor with Ron.

"No problem, Harry. What's so funny, midget?" he asked, seeing Mark in hysterics, sliding off of his seat and onto the compartment floor.

"_Ron!_"

"Is he okay, Harry?" The red head turned to his friend, ignoring Hermione's admonishments. Resolutely, Harry bit his cheek and nodded before grabbing the first year up by his bicep and hauling back onto the seat.

"E-Ed," the boy whimpered trying to stop his laughter, "Can I watch?"

Harry bit harder.

He sent a questioning look at Ron, who shrugged in return. With a deep breath Harry turned back to his young friend.

"Sure, Al. And once we're done we can give you a lesson."

Ginny cracked first. Neville followed soon after. The both of them were doubled over themselves, Ginny clutching her stomach for the pain and Neville slapping his knee. Hemrione tried to hide her giggles behind her hand, and continued to bite his cheek. Mark was lost, burying his face in Harry's shoulder and wheezing, shoulders shaking.

Ron didn't get it, but chuckled anyway, absolutely certain that he was missing something.

* * *

A/N: It's really short, I know, but I wanted to you guy something. I've hit an awkward patch in the story, and have been spending a lot of time revising previous chapters. I'll post revisions later, but there won't be much serious change. If you want to see some more of Harry's nightmares they would be good to read. In fact, some things that'll come up later might seem really sudden and out of blue unless you do read them, but I'll do my best to make sure that doesn't happen. 


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